Perhaps in this neglected spot is laid Some head, once fraught with diplomatic fire, Hands that CALCUTTA's Sceptre might have sway'd, And brought from India many a rich Jaghire. But commerce to their eyes her figur'd page, Rich with a Nabob's spoil, did ne'er unroll, No navy seconded advent❜rous rage, To barter wealth" from Indus to the Pole." Full many a mind with force to guide a storm, Some ABERCROMBIE who, with dauntless breast, Aggressing Gaul had chaced from Egypt's shore; Some MARLBRO', WOLFE, CORNWALLIS, here may rest, A SMITH, a STUART, WELLINGTON, or MOORE. The thanks of British Senates to command, To fight for freedom in Iberia's land, And raise our fame in LUSITANIA's eyes. Their Their lot forbad, nor circumscribed alone Their growing virtue's but their crimes confin'd, Forbade to wade thro' blood to Gallia's throne, And shut the gates of freedom on mankind. The struggling pangs of murder'd truth to hide, To heap the shrine of self-created pride Far from subverting an establish'd throne, Such modern doctrines were by them denied, They'd hands and hearts to combat for their own, And for their sov'reign's rights they fought and died. Yet e'en these bones which grave nor tomb pro tect, Nor sculptured arts, with letter'd graces vie, Oft shall the feeling passer by reflect, And pay their patriot virtue with a sigh. For who to dumb forgetfulness a prey But thinks on him whose patriotic mind Can for his country cast his life away, Tho' mindful of the friends he leaves behind. Nor Nor name, nor years, sung by the loftiest muse, Cou'd praise to equal their desert supply, Who, scorning Norman WILLIAM, dared refuse To yield, and for that bold refusal die. For WILLIAM, bane of those most honour'd dead, His sons, and HAROLD's sons, still cross'd his fate. And foreign wars he waged, and built the Tow'r, And caus'd our laws the Norman tongue to speak, And tax'd poor devils who were in his power, And help'd the strong to triumph o'er the weak. The Exchequer first at Westminster he placed, At MANTES, to burn a town it was his will, vain, And, And, or he died, or was used very ill, There, at due stated periods of the year, As choristers will do when they are paid. Around his tomb they march in sad array, The The EPITAPH.. Here rests his head upon its native earth A Prince to fame and fortune greatly known, Of high ambition, tho' of doubtful birth, ALBION he saw, and mark'd her for his own. Large was his army, numerous his fleet, He gain'd from victory, all he wish'd, a crown. No farther seek his merits to disclose, Or on a conqueror's faults too nicely look, He'll find, when waking from the tomb's repose, His sentence is inscribed in doomsday-book.* * Doomsday-book, is a register now extant, of all landed possessions, introduced among the fendal regulations by the Conqueror. SUMMARY |