Page:The works of Anna Laetitia Barbauld volume 1.djvu/365

 , Britain mourns, as with electric touch, For youth, for love, for happiness destroyed, Her universal population melts In grief spontaneous, and hard hearts are moved, And rough unpolished natures learn to feel For those they envied, leveled in the dust By Fate's impartial stroke; and pulpits sound With vanity and woe to earthly goods, And urge and dry the tear. Yet one there is Who midst this general burst of grief remains In strange tranquillity; whom; not the stir And long-drawn murmurs of the gathering crowd, That by his very windows trail the pomp Of hearse, and blazoned arms, and long array