When the pittance, which shame had wrung from thee at last,
And which found all his wants at an end, was returned![1]
"Was this then the fate,"--future ages will say,
When _some_ names shall live but in history's curse;
When Truth will be heard, and these Lords of a day
Be forgotten as fools or remembered as worse;--
"Was this then the fate of that high-gifted man,
"The pride of the palace, the bower and the hall,
"The orator,--dramatist,--minstrel,--who ran
"Thro' each mode of the lyre and was master of all;--
"Whose mind was an essence compounded with art
"From the finest and best of all other men's powers;-
"Who ruled, like a wizard, the world of the heart,
"And could call up its sunshine or bring down its showers;--
"Whose humor, as gay as the firefly's light,
"Played round every subject and shone as it played;--
"Whose wit in the combat, as gentle as bright,
"Ne'er carried a heart-stain away on its blade;--
"Whose eloquence--brightening whatever it tried,
"Whether reason or fancy, the gay or the grave,--
"Was as rapid, as deep and as brilliant a tide,
"As ever bore Freedom aloft on its wave!"
Yes--such was the man and so wretched his fate;--
And thus, sooner or later, shall all have to grieve,
Who waste their morn's dew in the beams of the Great,
And expect 'twill return to refresh them at eve.
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