London, 27th Feb. 1808.
ON THE DEATH OF HENRY KIRKE WHITE.
BY T. PARK.
Too, too prophetic did thy wild note swell,
Impassion'd minstrel! when its pitying wail
Sigh'd o'er the vernal primrose as it fell
Untimely, wither'd by the northern gale.[1]
Thou wert that flower of promise and of prime!
Whose opening bloom, 'mid many an adverse blast,
Charm'd the lone wanderer through this desert clime,
But charm'd him with a rapture soon o'ercast,
To see thee languish into quick decay.
Yet was not thy departing immature;
For ripe in virtue thou wert reft away,
And pure in spirit, as the bless'd are pure;
Pure as the dewdrop, freed from earthly leaven,
That sparkles, is exhaled, and blends with heaven!
[1] See Clifton Grove.
LINES ON THE DEATH OF MR. HENRY KIRKE WHITE.
BY THE REV. J. PLUMPTRE.
Such talents and such piety combined,
With such unfeign'd humility of mind,
Bespoke him fair to tread the way to fame,
And live an honour to the Christian name.
But Heaven was pleased to stop his fleeting hour,
And blight the fragrance of the opening flower.
We mourn—but not for him, removed from pain;
Our loss, we trust, is his eternal gain:
With him we'll strive to win the Saviour's love,
And hope to join him with the blest above.
October 24th, 1806.