Joseph Brown Ladd (1764–1786)

Sacred to the manes of Major Benjamin Huger, of South Carolina

ENROLL’D among the mighty dead,

Where Honour points the trophied grave,

And Virtue bends the pensive head,

Sweet is the memory of the brave.

There Friendship breathes the sigh sincere,

And Freedom, with dishevell’d hair,

Bedews the turf with many a tear,

While Sorrow’s dew-drops mingle there.

“But, pensive bard—O poet, say,”

(Columbia’s weeping genius cries,)

“Does not yon sod, which skirts the way,

Mark the lone spot where Huger lies?

“There Melancholy loves to dwell,

And pale-eyed Grief forever weeps:

She roams but where my Huger fell,

And lives but where the warrior sleeps.

“While bards, his virtues to relate,

Awake the symphony of songs,

Each sad remembrance of his fate

The melancholy verse prolongs.

“’Tis done—and, ah! resign we must.

In peace, dear shade, forever rest:

Nor ever may thy sacred dust

Be by unhallow’d feet impress’d.”

*****

The friends, who loved him here below,

And still, enraptured, spread his fame,

Have bid these lines of sorrow flow,

In sweet remembrance of the name.

On what great springs his spirit moved,

Let those, with tears, who know him, tell;

He lived, and he was all beloved;

He died, and all-lamented fell.