A POEM.
53
Checked in her conquests, England feels their wound,
And rescued Gauls the Douglas' triumph found.
Scarce Europe could their dreadful deeds contain,
From Russia's frozen coast to sultry Spain.
Nor time has yet subdued the mighty line;
Still bright their vigour, and their honours shine. 380
These, generous Morton, thy famed line support;
Hence sprightly March attends his Sovereign's court;
Queensberry, who latest of his race resigned
To fate, the lustre of a princely mind.
Ah! let me yet the mournful theme pursue,
The mansion of a generous friend in view;
From which no more his graceful form is seen
To mount the hill, or tread the flowery green.
No more his smiles the clouded brow shall clear,
Nor my sad heart his friendly converse cheer: 390
For his kind speech the fiercest griefs beguiled,
And all were cheerful round when William smiled.
His words were true, his smiles were void of art;
The kindest friend, with the sincerest heart.
As mild his manners as his soul was brave;
He never frowned but when he marked a knave.
No more he bids the swains' contentions cease,
Restrains their rage, or smiles them into peace.
And rescued Gauls the Douglas' triumph found.
Scarce Europe could their dreadful deeds contain,
From Russia's frozen coast to sultry Spain.
Nor time has yet subdued the mighty line;
Still bright their vigour, and their honours shine. 380
These, generous Morton, thy famed line support;
Hence sprightly March attends his Sovereign's court;
Queensberry, who latest of his race resigned
To fate, the lustre of a princely mind.
Ah! let me yet the mournful theme pursue,
The mansion of a generous friend in view;
From which no more his graceful form is seen
To mount the hill, or tread the flowery green.
No more his smiles the clouded brow shall clear,
Nor my sad heart his friendly converse cheer: 390
For his kind speech the fiercest griefs beguiled,
And all were cheerful round when William smiled.
His words were true, his smiles were void of art;
The kindest friend, with the sincerest heart.
As mild his manners as his soul was brave;
He never frowned but when he marked a knave.
No more he bids the swains' contentions cease,
Restrains their rage, or smiles them into peace.
