To the Memory of Canning

Early , but not untimely, Heaven recall'd
To perfect bliss, thy pure, enlighten'd mind;
And tho' the new-born freedom of mankind
Is sick of fear to be again enthrall'd,
Since thou art gone; and this fair island, wall'd
With the impregnable, unmaster'd sea,
Mourns with a widow's grief for loss of thee,—
Should we repine, as if thou wert install'd
In Heaven too soon? Nay, I will shed no tear.
Thy work is done. It was enough for thee
To own the glorious might of Liberty,
And cast away the bondage and the fear
Of rotten custom; so the hope, which Fate
Snatch'd from thy life, thy Fame shall consummate.
Rate this poem: 


No reviews yet.