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A POET'S ELEGY by JOHN GODFREY SAXE

First Line: HERE RESTS, AT LAST, FROM WORLDLY CARE AND STRIFE
Last Line: "THAN AUGHT HE EVER WROTE!"
Subject(s): DEATH; POETRY & POETS; DEAD, THE;

HERE rests, at last, from worldly care and strife,
A gentle man-of-rhyme,
Not all unknown to fame, -- whose lays and life
Fell short of the sublime.

Yet, as his poems ('t was the critics' praise)
Betrayed a careful mind,
His life, with less of license than his lays,
To Virtue was inclined.

Whate'er of Wit the kindly Muse supplied
He ever strove to bend
To Folly's hurt; nor once with wanton pride
Employed to pain a friend.

He loved a quip, but in his jesting vein
With studious care effaced
The doubtful word that threatened to profane
The sacred or the chaste.
He loathed the covert, diabolic jeer
That conscience undermines;
No hinted sacrilege nor skeptic sneer
Lurks in his laughing lines.

With satire's sword to pierce the false and wrong;
A ballad to invent
That bore a wholesome sermon in the song, --
Such was the poet's bent.

In social converse, "happy as a king."
When colder men refrained
From daring flights, he gave his fancy wing
And freedom unrestrained.

And golden thoughts, at times, -- a motley brood, --
Came flashing from the mine;
And fools who saw him in his merry mood
Accused the untasted wine.

He valued friendship's favor more than fame,
And paid his social dues;
He loved his Art, -- but held his manly name
Far dearer than his Muse.

And partial friends, while gayly laughing o'er
The merry lines they quote,
Say with a sigh, "To us the man was more
Than aught he ever wrote!"



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