Eudaemon shall roam on your mountains no more.
As fragrance distilled by the cold air of night,
So Absence and Time shall bring forth to the light,
The deeds and the virtues of one without guile,
Whose genius and wisdom shed light o'er your isle.
Mourn wildly, ye seabirds!--all nature make moan!
His chamber is empty--his footsteps are gone.
He toiled unrewarded--no guerdon he sought,
As soothing relief to the weary he brought;
But the mother's soft tear, and the infant's glad cry,
The blessings of gratitude garnered on high,
Shall, e'en in his Home, 'mid the Regions of Light,
Add lustre untold to his coronal bright.
THE END.
LONDON
R. CLAY, SONS, AND TAYLOR, PRINTERS,
BREAD STREET HILL.