Page:General Abercrombie's Elegy.pdf/2

 

On Egypt’s dreary soil where tyrants rule,

Freedom’s dear son, brave Abercrombie fell!

Britons tis there your matchless hero lies

A victim to the vengeance winged ball.

Ah hadst thou been content t’impart thy skill

To British heroes under thy command.

Thou might’st have been in life and safety still,

To visit once again thy native land.

With dangers threatened and of dangers told,

Thou valiant leader scorned a safe retreat:

Midst fire and smoke and thunder rushed bold;

In hopes thy triumph soon would be complete.

But thy intrepid soul and martial art

Led thee to where the winged thunder broke,

Fearless of danger from the assassin’s dart,

Firm and unshaken as a marble rock.

Fame’s trumpet shall thy praise thro’ ages sound,

And please discernment with its grateful blast;

Thy merit shall in hist’ry’s page be found,

When hosry headed Nature groans her last.