Classic Poem

SEE ! Liberty, majestic mourner, weeps,
And with the sacred drops bedews the bier,
Where cold and wan her darling hero sleeps,
No more her sweet enliv'ning voice to hear.

Sad Albion, hapless parent, sunk in woe,
With grief maternal hangs o'er W ILLIAM dead,
While down her fading cheeks fresh torrents flow,
And all her isle with desolation spread.

Hark! she exclaims, ‘Ah! here, my Britons, view
‘That royal head: once laurel crowns it wore;
‘Now wreath'd with Cypress and with baleful Yew,
‘Bow'd to the gloomy tyrant's awful pow'r.

‘That noble heart which glow'd with native fire,
‘My rights, my laws, to guard from hostile sway,
‘Its current froze, the vital pow'rs expire,
‘And Death, triumphant, bears the prize away.

‘In icy fetters bound, behold! the hand
‘That swift as lightning dealt my vengeance round,
‘Shook with my falchion Caledonia's land,
‘While trembling rebels fled th' affrighted ground.

‘But oh! reflection but increases grief,
‘Great as his fame so poignant is the smart;
‘Whilst aching mem'ry views the patriot chief
‘Grav'd on the tablet of each faithful heart.

‘And though, by Heav'n's dread mandate, all must die,
‘Nor royal lineage from the tomb can save;
‘Tho' there, without distinction, levell'd lie
‘The mightiest monarch and the meanest slave;

‘Yet Virtue shall, with honest care, embalm
‘The prince, the slave, who bow'd before her shrine;
‘And from absorbing Lethe's drowsy calm,
‘Shall snatch their names, in future days to shine.

‘How bright then his, historic truth shall tell,
‘While Albion empress of the seas remains;
‘His glorious deeds her choicest page shall swell,
‘There his lov'd name immortal honour gains.

‘Each friend of freedom must his name revere,
‘Approach my W ILLIAM 's urn with pious awe;
‘Pay to his ashes still a grateful tear,
‘And mourn the lost defender of their law.’