To country, youth, age, love, life—all were given;
In death, she lingered between him and Heaven;
Thus spake the patriot in his latest sigh,
“My duty done—I do not fear to die.”
Weep not for him; but for his country, tost
On Faction’s surges: “think not of the lost,
But what ’tis ours to do.”[[2]] The hand that stayed,
The pillar that upheld, in dust are laid;
And Freedom’s tree of life, whose roots entwine
Thy fathers’ bones—will it e’er cover thine?