Page:A Selection of Original Songs, Scraps, Etc., by Ned Farmer (3rd ed.).djvu/137



Which warded off Misfortune's stings and darts; Mild gentle Pity sought the hero's bed, And smoothed the pillow for his aching head, His last hard fight with Death was just the same As all his others — showed unflinching game; Till Nature, who had backed him, went up to him, (Seeing all chance was gone), and kindly drew him. And now let's rear a tablet o'er his grave, To show how Englishmen respect the brave, No costly marble, nor letter-gilded stone— Leave such distinction to the rich alone! Let some plain slab record his age and name, And leave the rest to History and Fame.

' impious to weep, the gentle maiden dead: Let not one tear of selfish love be shed, Nor dare repine that Providence denies A longer absence from her native skies. It was a mighty mission, which complete, Her happy spirit takes its well-earned seat At His right hand, who practises alone A more extended mercy than her own. Happy thy lot, dear Grace, for whom it was decreed, To crowd a life of virtue into one immortal deed.