Poems (Holford)/Ode to the Memory of Lieut.-Colonel Vassall
ELEGIAC ODE;
TO THE MEMORY OF
LIEUTENANT-COLONEL VASSALL
Muses of Britain! shall the tear
Which Memory sheds o'er valour's bier,
Fall silent in the grave?
Are mute despair, and heart-drawn sighs
Meet tribute for the brave!
No, raise your pealing voices high,
And bid them pierce the echoing skies
With hymns of victory!
Which Memory sheds o'er valour's bier,
Fall silent in the grave?
Are mute despair, and heart-drawn sighs
Meet tribute for the brave!
No, raise your pealing voices high,
And bid them pierce the echoing skies
With hymns of victory!
Amid life's humblest, lowliest scene,
Where the year glides untraced away,
And man, as he had never been,
Forgot, unheeded, or unseen,
Resigns his little day,
E'en o'er his undistinguish'd brow
A while the mourner Pity weeps,
Her teeming eyes incessant flow,
To wet the turf, where pale and low,
Some silent mortal sleeps:
But when the hero dies,
A suffering country sighs!
Yet soon the melancholy pause,
To grateful sorrow given,
Yields to the thunder of applause,
Which sweeps the vaulted heaven;
Whilst ye immortal Nine!
With busy fingers twine
From ever-living plants fair chaplets for his shrine!
Where the year glides untraced away,
And man, as he had never been,
Forgot, unheeded, or unseen,
Resigns his little day,
E'en o'er his undistinguish'd brow
A while the mourner Pity weeps,
Her teeming eyes incessant flow,
To wet the turf, where pale and low,
Some silent mortal sleeps:
But when the hero dies,
A suffering country sighs!
Yet soon the melancholy pause,
To grateful sorrow given,
Yields to the thunder of applause,
Which sweeps the vaulted heaven;
Whilst ye immortal Nine!
With busy fingers twine
From ever-living plants fair chaplets for his shrine!
Where was the generous flush of youth?
On Vassall's cheek it glow'd!
Where thy pure dictates, manly Truth?
From Vassall's lips they flow'd!
Honour, unsafe, but noble guest,
Sate proudly thron'd in Vassall's breast!
His gleaming faulchion wav'd on high,
Like the red meteor in the sky,
Glar'd terror on the startled eye:
Yet often o'er his prostrate foe,
His British arm withheld the blow,
And bade the trembler rise and live,
To tell thro' distant years how Britons can forgive!
On Vassall's cheek it glow'd!
Where thy pure dictates, manly Truth?
From Vassall's lips they flow'd!
Honour, unsafe, but noble guest,
Sate proudly thron'd in Vassall's breast!
His gleaming faulchion wav'd on high,
Like the red meteor in the sky,
Glar'd terror on the startled eye:
Yet often o'er his prostrate foe,
His British arm withheld the blow,
And bade the trembler rise and live,
To tell thro' distant years how Britons can forgive!
Shall he, the gallant and the young,
Drop from his high career unsung?
Ye Muses, no,
The living glow
Which fills your sacred strains was giv'n,
To snatch from Lethe's chilling wave
The well-earned honours of the brave,
And bid his name survive below,
Whom Destiny, with sudden blow,
Untimely sent to heaven!
Drop from his high career unsung?
Ye Muses, no,
The living glow
Which fills your sacred strains was giv'n,
To snatch from Lethe's chilling wave
The well-earned honours of the brave,
And bid his name survive below,
Whom Destiny, with sudden blow,
Untimely sent to heaven!
Mighty La Plata's giant shore
Shook at the British lion's roar,
And wild the death-star gleam'd,
And wide,
Slaughter pour'd a crimson tide;
E'en warriors shrank, dismay'd to view
Death wear his grimmest, ghastliest hue,
And half reluctant seem'd;
For fierce athwart the gloom of night,
The war-fires cast their lurid light!
Elate against the hurtling storm,
Vassall opposed his dauntless form,
And cheer'd his martial train:
"Come on, my Friends! yon bulwark's pride,
Shall fall before war's sweeping tide,
And strew the smoking plain."
On, on he rush'd! the crashing wall
Gave way and nodded to the fall!
Victory, thy flame inspir'd his breast,
Shed sparkles from his eyes, and flashed around his crest!
Shook at the British lion's roar,
And wild the death-star gleam'd,
And wide,
Slaughter pour'd a crimson tide;
E'en warriors shrank, dismay'd to view
Death wear his grimmest, ghastliest hue,
And half reluctant seem'd;
For fierce athwart the gloom of night,
The war-fires cast their lurid light!
Elate against the hurtling storm,
Vassall opposed his dauntless form,
And cheer'd his martial train:
"Come on, my Friends! yon bulwark's pride,
Shall fall before war's sweeping tide,
And strew the smoking plain."
On, on he rush'd! the crashing wall
Gave way and nodded to the fall!
Victory, thy flame inspir'd his breast,
Shed sparkles from his eyes, and flashed around his crest!
England! thy conquering banner flies,
Fann'd by the breath of hostile skies;
And to the quell'd Iberian's eyes
Recals those times when stories say,
That Britons never lost the day:
Yet on La Plata's shore
Wild Triumph lifts her echoing shouts no more!
But Silence with portentous form,
Points to the relics of the storm,
Where Victory hangs her wreathed head
In sadness o'er the glorious dead,
And exultation's feverous glow
Freezes in every generous breast,
Since he, the bravest and the best,
Pride of his country's youth! is laid thus early low.
Fann'd by the breath of hostile skies;
And to the quell'd Iberian's eyes
Recals those times when stories say,
That Britons never lost the day:
Yet on La Plata's shore
Wild Triumph lifts her echoing shouts no more!
But Silence with portentous form,
Points to the relics of the storm,
Where Victory hangs her wreathed head
In sadness o'er the glorious dead,
And exultation's feverous glow
Freezes in every generous breast,
Since he, the bravest and the best,
Pride of his country's youth! is laid thus early low.
'Tis o'er! for now the funeral knell
Comes on the gale with sullen swell!
The martial drum, so wont to cheer
The hero in his bright career,
With deaden'd stroke saddens the ear!
Ah! all is past! no trumpet's sound
Shall raise him from th' unconscious ground!
England may call her valiant band
The champions of her land,
But Vassall's day is o'er,
Spent on a distant shore,
And still'd the beating heart, unnerv'd the patriot hand.
Comes on the gale with sullen swell!
The martial drum, so wont to cheer
The hero in his bright career,
With deaden'd stroke saddens the ear!
Ah! all is past! no trumpet's sound
Shall raise him from th' unconscious ground!
England may call her valiant band
The champions of her land,
But Vassall's day is o'er,
Spent on a distant shore,
And still'd the beating heart, unnerv'd the patriot hand.
Ah! who is she whose streaming eye,
Disdaining earth, would pierce the sky,
To seek her hero there?
But soft! let no rude glance intrude
Upon the sacred solitude,
That veils the widow's tear!
Disdaining earth, would pierce the sky,
To seek her hero there?
But soft! let no rude glance intrude
Upon the sacred solitude,
That veils the widow's tear!
Muses of Britain! shall the tomb
Fold in its unrelenting gloom
All that is good and great?
In vain did Britain's soldier fall,
And must oblivion's dusky pall
Spread darkness o'er his fate?
Ah! no! his praise shall shine in story,
While Fame shall blazon on his grave,
That while he liv'd, he liv'd to glory,
And died the foremost of the brave!
Fold in its unrelenting gloom
All that is good and great?
In vain did Britain's soldier fall,
And must oblivion's dusky pall
Spread darkness o'er his fate?
Ah! no! his praise shall shine in story,
While Fame shall blazon on his grave,
That while he liv'd, he liv'd to glory,
And died the foremost of the brave!
FINIS.
J. M'Creery, Printer,
Black-Horse-Court, Fleet-Street,
London.