Classic Poem

By Virtue cherished, by Affection mourned,
By Honor hallowed, and by Fame adorned,
Here Florence sleeps, and o'er his sacred rest
Each word is tender and each thought is blest.
Long, for his loss, shall pensive Mem'ry show
Through Humor's mask, the visage of her woe,
Day breathe a darkness that no sun dispels,
And night be full of whispers and farewells;
While patient Kindness, shadow-like and dim,
Droops in its loneliness, bereft of him,
Feels its sad doom and sure decadence nigh, —
For how should Kindness live, when he could die!

The eager heart, that felt for every grief,
The bounteous hand, that loved to give relief,
The honest smile, that blessed where'er it lit,
The dew of pathos and the sheen of wit,
The sweet blue eyes, the voice of melting tone
That made all hearts as gentle as his own;
The Actor's charm, supreme in royal thrall,
That ranged through every field and shone in all, —
For these must Sorrow make perpetual moan,
Bereaved, benighted, hopeless, and alone?
Ah, no: for Nature does no act amiss,
And heaven were lonely but for souls like this.