On a Chelsea Hospital veteran, we have the following interesting epitaph:—
Here lies William Hiseland,
A Veteran, if ever Soldier was,
Who merited well a Pension,
If long service be a merit,
Having served upwards of the days of Man.
Ancient, but not superannuated;
Engaged in a Series of Wars,
Civil as well as Foreign,
Yet maimed or worn out by neither.
His complexion was Fresh and Florid;
His Health Hale and Hearty;
His memory Exact and Ready.
In Stature
He exceeded the Military Size;
In Strength
He surpassed the Prime of Youth;
And
What rendered his age still more Patriarchal,
When above a Hundred Years old
He took unto him a Wife!
Read! fellow Soldiers, and reflect
That there is a Spiritual Warfare,
As well as a Warfare Temporal.
Born the 1st August, 1620,
Died the 17th of February, 1732,
Aged One Hundred and Twelve.
At Bremhill, Wiltshire, the following lines are placed to the memory of a soldier who reached the advanced age of 92 years:—
A poor old soldier shall not lie unknown,
Without a verse and this recording stone.
’Twas his, in youth, o’er distant lands to stray,
Danger and death companions of his way.
Here, in his native village, stealing age
Closed the lone evening of his pilgrimage.
Speak of the past—of names of high renown,
Or brave commanders long to dust gone down,
His look with instant animation glow’d,
Tho’ ninety winters on his head had snow’d.
His country, while he lived, a boon supplied,
And Faith her shield held o’er him when he died.
A correspondent states that in Battersea Church there is a handsome monument to Sir Edward Wynter, a Captain in the East India Company’s service in the reign of Charles II., which records that in India, where he had passed many years of his life, he was
A rare example, and unknown to most,
Where wealth is gain’d, and conscience is not lost;
Nor less in martial honour was his name,
Witness his actions of immortal fame.
Alone, unharm’d, a tiger he opprest,
And crush’d to death the monster of a beast.
Thrice twenty mounted Moors he overthrew,
Singly, on foot, some wounded, some he slew,
Dispersed the rest,—what more could Samson do?
True to his friends, a terror to his foes,
Here now in peace his honour’d bones repose.
Below, in bas-relief, he is represented struggling with the tiger, both the combatants appearing in the attitude of wrestlers. He is also depicted in the performance of the yet more wonderful achievement, the discomfiture of the “thrice twenty mounted Moors,” who are all flying before him.
In Yarmouth churchyard, a monumental inscription tells a painful story as follows:—
To the memory of George Griffiths, of the Shropshire Militia, who died Feb 26th, 1807, in consequence of a blow received in a quarrel with his comrade.
Time flies away as nature on its wing,
I in a battle died (not for my King).
Words with my brother soldier did take place,
Which shameful is, and always brings disgrace.
Think not the worse of him who doth remain,
For he as well as I might have been slain.