Poems, Sacred and Moral/Epitaph on the Rev. William Mason
EPITAPH
ON THE
REV. WILLIAM MASON.
Britain! If strains that Greece had joy'd to own,
Strains that symphonious to the Druid's lyre,
While Freedom linger'd on her tottering throne,
Breathed o'er the soul the glow of patriot fire;
Strains that symphonious to the Druid's lyre,
While Freedom linger'd on her tottering throne,
Breathed o'er the soul the glow of patriot fire;
Britain! If strains like these can touch thy heart;
Or lays that flow'd, when Taste, by Nature led,
O'er her wild beauties flung the grace of Art;
Here duteous bend before thy Mason dead!
Or lays that flow'd, when Taste, by Nature led,
O'er her wild beauties flung the grace of Art;
Here duteous bend before thy Mason dead!
So, till from Heaven the knell of earth is rung,
Till the Last Flames thy sylvan pomp invade,
So mayst Thou grasp the Liberty he sung,
So bloom thine Isle the Garden he pourtray'd!
Till the Last Flames thy sylvan pomp invade,
So mayst Thou grasp the Liberty he sung,
So bloom thine Isle the Garden he pourtray'd!
Swell then from all thy realms thy Poet's praise—
Hark to the nobler praise that shakes the skies!
See Angel Myriads on his marble gaze:
Hear raptured Seraphs—"There a Christian lies!"
Hark to the nobler praise that shakes the skies!
See Angel Myriads on his marble gaze:
Hear raptured Seraphs—"There a Christian lies!"