Illustration from 'Poems, Sacred and Moral' by Thomas Gisborne, third edition published in 1803
The kindling mass resigns its murky dye.
THE
DUELLIST:
AN ELEGY
THE
DUELLIST:
AN
ELEGY.
'Stranger! who sleeps in yonder nameless grave? 'I saw thee pause and linger o'er the tomb, 'Where to the gale those thorns their branches wave, 'And Evening deepens in that yew-tree's gloom.'
'There sleeps my friend,' the pensive stranger cried: 'O'er the blank stone have twenty winters past: 'Yet, as the gale amid that yew-tree sigh'd, 'Methought again I heard him breathe his last.
'Yes! for I saw the last convulsive start, 'That spoke the struggle closed of Life and Death: 'Felt the last pulse that trembled from his heart; 'And heard the sigh that told his parting breath.
'Fix'd in his breast the adverse weapon stood—' 'Stranger! Where died he in his country's cause? 'Blest be the man, whose pure and generous blood 'Flows for his country's liberty and laws!'———
"O why the grief of other days recall? 'Alas! he died not for his country's sake. 'Wielding unhallow'd arms 'twas his to fall: ''Twas his in death his country's laws to break.
'One word, one careless word, escaped his tongue; 'One careless word, from guile, from anger free. 'Blood, blood must cleanse the unsuspected wrong— "Meet on the heath, beside the lonely tree—"
'So spake the foe: nor, parting, did he hide 'The mutter'd threat, nor glance of scorn behind. 'Too well my friend the glance of scorn descried; 'And thus explored his own uncertain mind.
"What shall I do? Custom! thy tyrant sway, "To laws of earth or heaven untaught to yield, "And thine, whose nod the brave, the base, obey, "Ideal Honour! urge me to the field."
'That field perchance consigns thee to the dead,' "Affection cries; 'Forbear, forbear the strife. 'Think on thy childless mother's hoary head: 'Think on thy orphan babes, thy widow'd wife.'
"Yes, throbs of Nature! through my inmost soul "From nerve to nerve your strong vibrations dart— "Hark, Duty speaks—'Rebellious Pride control; 'And bow to Heaven's behest the swelling heart.'
"What though, be witness Heaven! nor vengeful hate "Nor hostile rage within my bosom burn: "How can I guiltless tread the brink of fate, "And dare the gulf from whence is no return?
"Though from his breast who braves me to the fight, "Guarding my own, my sword aloof I wave; "What praise, while yet against his lawless might "I stake the sacred trust my Maker gave?
"How mid assembled Angels shall I dare "For Judgement throned the Son of God to see: "Afraid for Him the sting of scorn to bear, "Who bore the sting of scorn and death for me[1]!
"And is it then so deep a crime to die, "Shielding from taint my yet unspotted name?— "Away, vain sophistry! A Christian I, "And fear at Duty's call to risk my fame?
"Yet how, proud foe, thy cold insulting eye, "Shunning the offer'd combat, shall I face? "Where hide my head, while Slander's envious cry, "Roused at thy bidding, trumpets my disgrace?
"My native woodlands shall I seek, the sneer "Even in their shades on every brow to meet? "Or haunt the town, in every wind to hear 'There sculks the Coward,' murmur through the street?
"What, live to infamy, of fools the scorn, "The dastard's butt, the by-word of the brave? "No: farewel Doubt!"—'Beneath the waving thorn, 'Go, learn his fate at yonder nameless grave.
'Stranger! If trials like to his are thine, 'Hark to the voice, that whispers from his sod. "Shame dost thou dread? The shame of Sin decline: "Talk'st thou of Valour? Dare to fear thy God."
_-_illustration_6.png)