Classic Poem

ON VISITING THE TOMB OF DERMODY, IN LEWISHAM CHURCH-YARD .

Still, Red Breast, o'er the tuneful dead,
That sweetly-soothing dirge prolong;
For his, who owns this earthy bed,
His was as sad, as sweet a song!

Unhappy Bard! the scene is past;
At length, thy mortal struggle's o'er;
But, oh! with that untimely blast,
Thy raptur'd strains are heard no more.

Beside the turf that wraps thy clay,
Shall kindred memory fondly wake,
And, spite of all thy foes can say,
Shall love thee for the Muse's sake.

O! take from one, who knows to scan
The ardent soul, the dark career;
Who feels for erring, wretched man,
O! take this tributary tear.

Here, where no more rude cares molest,
But earth's sad sufferer's calmly sleep;
Here, where the " weary are at rest, "
Shall Genius oft her vigils keep.

And Pity, with a beaming eye, —
— Forgot the faults that laid thee low —
O'er thy cold grave shall deeply sigh,
And mourn thy pilgrimage of woe.

Still, Red Breast, o'er the tuneful dead,
That sweetly-soothing dirge prolong;
For his, who owns this earthy bed,
His was as sad, as sweet a song.