101
LINES
ADDRESSED TO COLONEL H,
on his return from waterloo.
Who envies not the glory of the brave!
The sunshine of their fame—their laurell'd grave!
Theirs is the memory of afterlight;
Theirs is a brightness 'mid oblivion's night:
Time whelms the many with eternal gloom,
But sheds fresh honours on the heros' tomb.
In life, they move not with the common throng,
