Lines on the Death of James Smith, Esq.


BY A LADY
.

The tomb has closed o'er him who once was the light
Of each circle where talent and temper are loved;
Whose varied acquirements as solid as bright
More fondly we love, when for ever removed.

His memory's wide speaking compass could span,
Like the rainbow's bright arch, the horizon of mind.
O'er the billows of Time reminiscent it ran,
And the stores of the past to his grasp were resigned.

The coldness of form and the shadows of gloom
Were chased by the beams of his fancy's light play;
His voice sent the spirit of mirth round the room,
And his laugh drove the demon of dulness away.

How oft, when his presence our meetings have cheered,
Have the young and ingenuous thronged round his seat,
To share in the converse his kindness endeared,
(Sure test of His worth whom such suffrages greet.)

No maxim has guided — no learning directs,
The Bee on her task among summer's gay bowers;
From instinct alone she unerring selects
The sweetest and best for her bouquet of flowers:

So, by nature's mysterious alchemy led,
The young, yet unsnared in the mazes of art,
Can detect the pure ore wheresoe'er it lies hid,
And a smile gives them light to decipher the heart!

Content to be loved where he might have been feared,
The darts of his satire were playfully thrown,
No smoke-wreath of malice or rancour appeared,
O'er the flame of a wit that so lambently shone.

Distrust and suspicion, the bitterest fruit
Of the dark tree of knowledge, to him were unknown;
His friends shared his joys — but his sorrows were mute,
And his wrongs were resented by silence alone.

His temper's mild sunshine no suffering could cloud,
The dark days of sickness — the night-watch of pain,
And how often those hours were his lot, the gay crowd
Little knew, when they basked in his presence again.

But, alas! he is gone — and the echoes of mirth
Are silent where mosThe was valued and known;
The halls of the noble lament him — the hearth
Domestic — retains but his memory alone.

By the sorrows of friends — by the general voice
Regretted and loved, O let this be our pride,
While many will mourn him, not one will rejoice,
In charity living — in peace he has died.
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