THUS, some tall tree that long hath stood The glory of its native wood, By storms destroyed, or length of years, Demands the tribute of our tears. The pile, that took long time to raise, To dust returns by slow decays; But, when its destined years are o'er, We must regret the loss the more. So long accustomed to your aid, The world laments your exit made; So long befriended by your art, Philosopher, 't is hard to part! -- When monarchs tumble to the ground Successors easily are found; But, matchless Franklin! what a few Can hope to rival such as you, Who seized from kings their sceptred pride, And turned the lightning's darts aside! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...LAMENT OF THE FRONTIER GUARD by LI PO GOD SAVE THE NATION! by THEODORE TILTON MOUNTAIN FROLIC by GEORGE LAWRENCE ANDREWS THE OLD MAID by GEORGE BARLOW (1847-1913) BLAKE'S APOLOGY FOR HIS CATALOGUE by WILLIAM BLAKE ON THE DEATH OF AN OLD TOWNSMAN by JOHN GARDINER CALKINS BRAINARD |