Classic Poem

WRITTEN ON A FOREIGNER'S VISITING THE GRAVE OF A SWISS GENTLEMAN, BURIED AMONG THE DESCENDENTS OF SIR WILLIAM WALLACE, GUARDIAN OF SCOTLAND IN THE THIRTEENTH CENTURY .

Our regal seat to Edward fallen a prey,
Our Chief's insulted corse his victim lay;
Our ruin'd land no monument could raise;
Yet grateful bards still sung his heart-felt praise.
Long ages hence her hero still she'll mourn;
Still her brave sons with emulation burn.
His spirit guarding still our native place,
Proclaims this mandate to his latest race:
" Let sacred truth bid living fame be thine;
" Ne'er trust for honour to a sculptur'd shrine.
" Those modest merits marbles ne'er impart,
" Love writes them deepest on the human heart. "

Thus mid thy race did their lov'd Henry dwell,
Whose dust shall mixthy memory with Tell:
Truth, honour, spirit, animate that form,
Which beauty, grace, and symmetry adorn.
Here that rich blossom dropp'd, scarce fairly blown;
The friend, the husband, father we bemoan!
Wail by the grave a mother's cheerless throes,
And share a widow's agonizing woes!

Dear youth, thy name to latest time descends,
Where gentle virtues made mankind thy friends.
From no vain marble need you borrow fame;
Truth, love and friendship, here embalm thy name.
A parent's silver hairs bestrew thy shrine;
Her griefs were mortal, but her joys sublime:
In tears me mourn the body laid to rest;
She hails thy spotless soul 'mid angels blest.