And when thou leavest us behind,
Our recollections will not die—
Of thee whose meekness, zeal, and love,
Are known alike to low and high.
Out from thy fold, all other flocks
Were proud of thee—a shepherd true,
All other shepherds greeted thee,
Although thy flocks to theirs were few.
Thou tended with a shepherd’s care,
And saw that none did go astray;
Thou led them with an honest will,
From early morn to evening’s ray.
Adieu, dear sir, long may’st thou live
To be a credit to our isle;
And when thou toil’st ’midst other friends,
May fortune on thy labours smile.
He’s Thy Brother.
Turn from the rich thy steps awhile,
And visit this poor domicile;
Abode of flavours rank and vile?
This is the home, and this the style,
Where lives thy brother!
The cobwebs are his chandeliers;
Bricks and dank straw his bed and chairs;
He has no carpet on the stairs,
But, like the wild beasts to their lairs,
Crawls in thy brother.
He once did stride his father’s knee—
A little horseman bold and free;
And, should thou trace this pedigree,
Thy mother’s darling pet was he—
Thy little brother.
His mind was not of thine, ’tis plain;
He dreamt of wonders, thou of gain;
But thou thy object didst attain
For which another sought in vain—
E’en thy own brother.