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And ere he set, his latest gleam
Perchance at close of eve,
Some friend may linger here,
One bright unbidden tear.
My soul shall soon be free,
And, loosed from mortal chains,
Where peace for ever reigns.
There is a glorious rest,'
For weeping mortals given;
They find that rest in heaven.
On the Death of John Earl of Hopetoun, &c. &c. at Paris, 27th August 1823.
From Jonah's grief, and anger for his gourd,
For thou dost try us, but we humbled bow
Before thy throne; nor say, what doest thou?
All-ruling Sovereign! ever wise and good
Are all thy ways, though darkly understood;
And oft at seeming variance with the grace
That favours man, and the rich promises
On which we hope.—How dark was that decree,
Which summoned Hopetoun hence; though 'twas to thee!
Ah, in his death, how many sanguine schemes,
That hope had cherished die! How many streams
Of bliss are dried! How many tears and sighs
Reveal of many hearts the agonies!
The highest ranks, the Chiefest of the chief,
Regard Him in his cordial adieu *,
Referring to his Majesty's leaving Scotland.
Dear to his prince, by all around him blessed, Hopetoun's high claims to honour all confessed. Among his peers unrivalled, yet beloved, With mingled grace and dignity he moved. His fall they mourn.—But whither can we go, But to perceive the solemn march of woe; To see the streaming eyes of grief, and hear Her mournful tones repeated far and near?
Britannia's deathless annals shall proclaim, To distant times, the Chief's illustrious name; While in Corunna's memorating line At once the orator and hero shine. Nor do her armies only mourn his zeal; What patriot more enjoyed his country's weal? Hostile to her hostilities, and blessed, Her honours and prosperity increased.
Alas! as we survey his favoured Fife, His native Lothian, his domestic life, The tides of grief and mourning more prevail: Each dale and hamlet tells its cause to wail, Chiefly lorn Abercorn and Monimail *. There gratitude her benefactor lauds, There generous deeds philanthropy applauds, There friendship's lips with glowing rapture dwell On scenes of bliss; though the recitals swell The breast with pleasing pain ineffable. * Lord Hopetoun's native parish.
But lo! to the mind's eye a form appears,
Thus speaks Religion :—even she must mourn
O! to that home, which late his presence blessed,
Rev. Dr Martin. THE HOPETOUN MONUMENT.
ADDRESSED TO A FftlEND.
Not easily, my friend, can I recount
With the admirers fond of the sublime
The vale is traced, the enraptured eye now roams