LET praise, the victor's act record And nations deify the sword With human sacrifice impure; To such, when fate has given the blow, The service of external woe. Shall long prescriptive right secure: But ah! the tears, the sighs, that part Spontaneous from the deep-charg'd heart, The formal summons disobey; This envied meed from distant lands, The name of Leopold commands, And every friend of man shall pay. Lamented youth! I never trod The banks where rapid Oder flow'd, Whose latest sons shall weep thy doom; Nor ever hail'd thy gracious form, Whose promis'd worth, th' unkind storm Hath crush'd in manhood's opening bloom. Yet all confess'd, to Fancy's eyes, Thy gentle spirit seems to rise With amaranthine splendor crown'd; And recent, from their wat'ry grave, The tender group thou died'st to save, On snowy pinions hover round. Tho' now, to better worlds resign'd, Thy bright example, left behind, Shall still, to man, extend thy care; Disclose the surer paths of fame; And nobly point the social aim, "To save, to pity, and to spare." |