Shar’d his torn limbs with savage pride;
Then griev’d, infatuate! that he died.
Ah, who but knows and loves the lay,
Which Seward hung on Cook’s Morai?
O had I such melodious tear,
Lamented Needwood, for thy bier!
Forests of England! ye might claim
A proud share in her ancient fame.
Tell your forgetful country, tell,
When dangers dread her state befell,