Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, TRIBUTARY LINES, by ANONYMOUS


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Classic and Contemporary Poetry

TRIBUTARY LINES, by                    
First Line: "weep now, ye muses, let your sorrows flow"
Last Line: "or, from his memory, snatch the wreaths of fame"
Subject(s): "paine, Robert Treat (1773-1811);


WEEP now, ye Muses, let your sorrows flow,
For PAINE, the pride of minstrelsy, lies low;
Ye, who inspired his ever tuneful breath,
Could not secure him from the shafts of death.

His harp is broken, and his lyre unstrung,
Who Moore's triumphant death and glory sung;
And he, who deck'd with laurel valor's tomb,
Now rests, alas! with Moore, in kindred gloom.

If wit or genius had the power to save
Their great possessor from the darksome grave;
Your much-lov'd offspring's loss we should not mourn,
Nor moisten, with our tears, his funeral urn.

Who his deserted station can supply,
And fill the foremost ranks of Poesy?
Vain is th' attempt our sorrows to restrain,
For we shall never view another PAINE.

For every noble quality renowned,
And with the choicest gifts of Nature crowned:
Shall not his strains succeeding Bards inspire,
And stamp their works with more than mortal fire.

Yes; while the noble fame of Moore shall last,
Not scandal's breath, nor envy's withering blast,
Shall dare, with impious power, attack his name,
Or, from his memory, snatch the wreaths of fame.





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