ALAS! POOR FALLEN SIR FRANCIS !
Elegy written in Westminster Hall.
THE Judges toll the knell of Burdett's fame,
The rabble-rout disperse with lack of glee;

Sir Francis Burdett (father of the present Lady Burdett Coutts) was Radical M. P. for Westminster. Perhaps the greatest event of his life was his committal to the Tower under the Speaker's warrant for a libellous letter published in Cobbett's Political Register of March 24, 1810, in which he questioned the power of the House of Commons to imprison delinquents. He at first resisted the execution of the warrant, and being a favourite with the mob, a street contest ensued between the military and the people, in which some lives were lost.

The counsel homeward plod just as they came, And leave the Hall to darkness and to me.

Now fades each fairy prospect on my sight;
All nature now appears to make a pause,
Save where the wits the Chronicle who write
Weave drowsy paragraphs to patch my cause.
Beneath these ancient walls, once vocal made
By vote of thanks, which late I found so cheap,
Indignant Justice bids my laurels fade,

The dull co-partners of my folly wees.

For me no more the flaming press shall teem,
Nor busy printers ply their evening care;
No patriots flock to propagate my theme,
Nor lick my feet the ill-got wreath to share,

The fulsome strain of incense-breathing puff,
The snuffman bawling to the throng misled ;
Cobbett's foul Register, nor all the stuff

Of weekly scribes, can raise my drooping head,
Oft did the thoughtless to their judgments yield,
Their railings oft disloyal rage provoke ;
How jocund each his secret soul reveal'd,
How laugh'd the crowd at ev'ry hackney'd joke

Now you, ye loyal, fix on them the fault,
If memory to my name no trophies raise
Where in the ample page, with zeal unbought,
The pen historic gives the meed of praise.