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(Died September 21, 1832)
RHYMERS and writers of our day, | |
| Too much of melancholy! | |
| Give us the old heroic lay; | |
| A whiff of wholesome folly; | |
| The escapade, the dance; | 5 |
| A touch of wild romance: | |
| Wake from this self-conscious fit; | |
| Give us again Sir Walter’s wit; | |
| His love of earth, of sky, of life; | |
| His ringing page with humor rife; | 10 |
| His never-weary pen; | |
| His love of men! | |
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| Builder of landscape, who could make | |
| Turret and tower their stations take | |
| Brave in the face of the sun; | 15 |
| Of many a mimic world creator, | |
| Of nothing human he the hater. | |
| Nobly could he plan: | |
| Master of nature, master of man. | |
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| Sometimes I think that He who made us, | 20 |
| And on this pretty planet laid us, | |
| Made us to work and play | |
| Like children in the light of day— | |
| Not like plodders in the dark | |
| Searching with lanterns for some mark | 25 |
| To find the way. | |
| After the stroke of pain, | |
| Up and to work again! | |
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| Such was his life, without reproach or fear: | |
| A lonely fight before the last eclipse,— | 30 |
| A broken heart, a smile upon the lips; | |
| And, at the end, | |
| When Heaven bent down and whispered in his ear | |
| The word God’s saints waited and longed to hear, | |
| I ween he was as quick as they to comprehend; | 35 |
| And, when he passed beyond the goal, | |
| Entered the gates of pearl no sweeter soul. | |
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