EPISTLE
FROM
LORD
WILLIAM
RUS
SEL
TO
WILLIAM
LORD
CAVENDISH
This
epistle
is
supposed
to
have
been
written
by
Lord
RUSSEL
,
on
friday
night
,
July
20
,
1683
,
in
Newgate
;
that
prison
having
been
the
place
of
his
confinement
for
some
days
immediately
preceding
his
execution
.
.
BY
GEO.
CANNING
,
ESQ
.
LOST
to
the
world
,
to-morrow
doom'd
to
die
,
Still
for
my
country's
weal
my
heart
beats
high
.
Tho'
rattling
chains
ring
peals
of
horror
round
,
While
night's
black
shades
augment
the
savage
sound
,
'Midst
bolts
and
bars
the
active
soul
is
free
,
And
flies
,
unfetter'd
,
CAVENDISH
,
to
thee
.
Thou
dear
companion
of
my
better
days
,
When
hand
in
hand
we
trod
the
paths
of
Praise
;
When
,
leagu'd
with
patriots
,
we
maintain'd
the
cause
Of
true
religion
,
liberty
,
and
laws
,
Disdaining
down
the
golden
stream
to
glide
,
But
bravely
stemm'd
Corruption's
rapid
tide
;
Think
not
I
come
to
bid
thy
tears
to
flow
,
Or
melt
thy
generous
soul
with
tales
of
woe
;
No
:
view
me
firm
,
unshaken
,
undismay'd
,
As
when
the
welcome
mandate
I
obey'd
—
Heavens
!
with
what
pride
that
moment
I
recall
!
Who
would
not
wish
,
so
honour'd
,
thus
to
fall
!
When
England's
Genius
,
hovering
o'er
,
inspir'd
Her
chosen
sons
,
with
love
of
Freedom
fir'd
,
Spite
of
an
abject
,
servile
,
pension'd
train
,
Minions
of
Power
,
and
worshippers
of
Gain
,
To
save
from
Bigotry
its
destin'd
prey
,
And
shield
three
nations
from
tyrannick
sway
.
'Twas
then
my
CA'NDISH
caught
the
glorious
flame
,
The
happy
omen
of
his
future
fame
;
Adorn'd
by
Nature
,
perfected
by
Art
,
The
clearest
head
,
and
warmest
,
noblest
heart
,
His
words
,
deep
sinking
in
each
captiv'd
ear
,
Had
power
to
make
even
Liberty
more
dear
.
While
I
,
unskill'd
in
Oratory's
lore
,
Whose
tongue
ne'er
speaks
but
when
the
heart
runs
o'er
,
In
plain
blunt
phrase
my
honest
thoughts
express'd
Warm
from
the
heart
,
and
to
the
heart
address'd
.
Justice
prevail'd
;
yes
Justice
,
let
me
say
,
Well
pois'd
her
scales
on
that
auspicious
day
.
The
watchful
shepherd
spies
the
wolf
afar
,
Nor
trusts
his
flock
to
try
the
unequal
war
;
What
tho'
the
savage
crouch
in
humble
guise
,
And
check
the
fire
that
flashes
from
his
eyes
,
Should
once
his
barbarous
fangs
the
fold
invade
,
Vain
were
their
cries
,
too
late
the
shepherd's
aid
,
Thirsting
for
blood
,
he
knows
not
how
to
spare
,
His
jaws
distend
,
his
fiery
eyeballs
glare
,
While
ghastly
Desolation
,
stalking
round
,
With
mangled
limbs
bestrews
the
purple
ground
.
Now
,
Memory
,
fail
!
nor
let
my
mind
revolve
,
How
England's
Peers
annull'd
the
just
resolve
,
Against
her
bosom
aim'd
a
deadly
blow
,
And
laid
at
once
her
great
Palladium
low
!
Degenerate
nobles
!
Yes
,
by
Heaven
I
swear
,
Had
BEDFORD's
self
appear'd
delinquent
there
,
And
join'd
,
forgetful
of
his
country's
claims
,
To
thwart
the
exclusion
of
apostate
JAMES
,
All
filial
ties
had
then
been
left
at
large
,
And
I
myself
the
first
to
urge
the
charge
.
Such
the
fix'd
sentiments
that
rule
my
soul
,
Time
cannot
change
,
nor
Tyranny
controul
;
While
free
,
they
hung
upon
my
pensive
brow
,
Then
my
chief
care
,
my
pride
and
glory
now
;
Foil'd
I
submit
,
nor
think
the
measure
hard
,
For
conscious
Virtue
is
its
own
reward
.
Vain
then
is
force
,
and
vain
each
subtile
art
,
To
wring
retraction
from
my
tortured
heart
;
There
lie
,
in
marks
indelible
engrav'd
,
The
means
whereby
my
country
must
be
sav'd
;
Are
to
thine
eyes
those
characters
unknown
?
To
read
my
inmost
heart
,
consult
thine
own
;
There
wilt
thou
find
this
sacred
truth
reveal'd
,
Which
shall
to
morrow
with
my
blood
be
seal'd
,
Seek
not
infirm
expedients
to
explore
,
But
banish
JAMES
,
or
England
is
no
more
.
Friendship
her
tender
offices
may
spare
,
Nor
strive
to
move
the
unforgiving
pair
,
Hopeless
the
tyrant's
mercy-seat
to
climb
—
Zeal
for
my
country's
freedom
is
my
crime
!
Ere
that
meets
pardon
,
lambs
with
wolves
shall
range
,
CHARLES
be
a
saint
,
and
JAMES
his
nature
change
.
Press'd
by
my
friends
,
and
RACHEL's
fond
desires
,
(
Who
can
deny
what
weeping
love
requires
!
)
Frailty
prevail'd
,
and
for
a
moment
quell'd
Th'
indignant
pride
that
in
my
bosom
swell'd
;
I
sued
—
the
weak
attempt
I
blush
to
own
—
I
sued
for
mercy
,
prostrate
at
the
throne
.
O
!
blot
the
foible
out
,
my
noble
friend
,
With
human
firmness
human
feelings
blend
!
When
Love's
endearments
softest
moments
seize
,
And
Love's
dear
pledges
hang
upon
the
knees
,
When
Nature's
strongest
ties
the
soul
enthrall
,
(
Thou
canst
conceive
,
for
thou
hast
felt
them
all
!
)
Let
him
resist
their
prevalence
,
who
can
;
He
must
,
indeed
,
be
more
or
less
than
man
.
Yet
let
me
yield
my
RACHEL
honour
due
,
The
tenderest
wife
,
the
noblest
heroine
too
!
Anxious
to
save
her
husband's
honest
name
,
Dear
was
his
life
,
but
dearer
still
his
fame
!
When
suppliant
prayers
no
pardon
could
obtain
,
And
,
wonderous
strange
!
ev'n
BEDFORD's
gold
prov'd
vain
,
The
informer's
part
her
generous
soul
abhorr'd
,
Though
life
preserv'd
had
been
the
sure
reward
;
Let
impious
ESCRICK
act
such
treacherous
scenes
,
And
shrink
from
death
by
such
opprobrious
means
.
O
!
my
lov'd
RACHEL
!
all-accomplish'd
fair
!
Source
of
my
joy
,
and
soother
of
my
care
!
Whose
heavenly
virtues
,
and
unfading
charms
,
Have
bless'd
through
happy
years
my
peaceful
arms
!
Parting
with
thee
into
my
cup
was
thrown
,
Its
harshest
dregs
else
had
not
forc'd
a
groan
!
—
But
all
is
o'er
—
these
eyes
have
gaz'd
their
last
—
And
now
the
bitterness
of
death
is
past
.
BURNET
and
TILLOTSON
,
with
pious
care
,
My
fleeting
soul
for
heavenly
bliss
prepare
,
Wide
to
my
view
the
glorious
realms
display
,
Pregnant
with
joy
,
and
bright
with
endless
day
.
Charm'd
,
as
of
old
when
Israel's
prophet
sung
,
Whose
words
distill'd
like
manna
from
his
tongue
,
While
the
great
bard
sublimest
truths
explor'd
,
Each
ravish'd
hearer
wonder'd
and
ador'd
;
So
rapt
,
so
charm'd
,
my
soul
begins
to
rise
,
Spurns
the
base
earth
,
and
seems
to
reach
the
skies
.
But
when
,
descending
from
the
sacred
theme
,
Of
boundless
power
,
and
excellence
supreme
,
They
would
for
man
,
and
his
precarious
throne
,
Exact
obedience
,
due
to
Heaven
alone
,
Forbid
resistance
to
his
worst
commands
,
And
place
God's
thunderbolts
in
mortal
hands
;
The
vision
sinks
to
life's
contracted
span
,
And
rising
passion
speaks
me
still
a
man
.
What
!
shall
a
tyrant
trample
on
the
laws
,
And
stop
the
source
whence
all
his
power
he
draws
?
His
country's
rights
to
foreign
foes
betray
,
Lavish
her
wealth
,
yet
stipulate
for
pay
?
To
shameful
falshoods
venal
slaves
suborn
,
And
dare
to
laugh
the
virtuous
man
to
scorn
?
Deride
Religion
,
Justice
,
Honour
,
Fame
,
And
hardly
know
of
Honesty
the
name
?
In
Luxury's
lap
lie
screen'd
from
cares
and
pains
,
And
only
toil
to
forge
his
subjects
chains
?
And
shall
he
hope
the
publick
voice
to
drown
,
The
voice
which
gave
,
and
can
resume
his
crown
!
When
Conscience
bares
her
horrors
,
and
the
dread
Of
sudden
vengeance
,
bursting
o'er
his
head
,
Wrings
his
black
soul
;
when
injured
nations
groan
,
And
cries
of
millions
shake
his
tottering
throne
;
Shall
flattering
churchmen
soothe
his
guilty
ears
,
With
tortured
texts
,
to
calm
his
growing
fears
;
Exalt
his
power
above
the
Aetherial
climes
,
And
call
down
Heaven
to
sanctify
his
crimes
!
O
!
impious
doctrine
!
—
Servile
priests
away
!
Your
Prince
you
poison
,
and
your
God
betray
.
Hapless
the
monach
!
who
,
in
evil
hour
,
Drinks
from
your
cup
the
draught
of
lawless
power
!
The
magic
potion
boils
within
his
veins
,
And
locks
each
sense
in
adamantine
chains
;
Reason
revolts
,
insatiate
thirst
ensues
,
The
wild
delirium
each
fresh
draught
renews
;
In
vain
his
people
urge
him
to
refrain
,
His
faithful
servants
supplicate
in
vain
;
He
quaffs
at
length
,
impatient
of
controul
,
The
bitter
dregs
that
lurk
within
the
bowl
.
Zeal
your
pretence
,
but
wealth
and
power
your
aims
,
You
ev'n
could
make
a
SOLOMON
of
JAMES
.
Behold
the
pedant
,
thron'd
in
aukward
state
,
Absorb'd
in
pride
,
ridiculously
great
;
His
courtiers
seem
to
tremble
at
his
nod
,
His
prelates
call
his
voice
the
voice
of
God
;
Weakness
and
vanity
with
them
combine
,
And
JAMES
believes
his
majesty
divine
.
Presumptuous
wretch
!
almighty
power
to
scan
,
While
every
action
proves
him
less
than
man
.
By
your
delusions
to
the
scaffold
led
,
Martyr'd
by
you
,
a
royal
CHARLES
has
bled
.
Teach
then
,
ye
sycophants
!
O
!
teach
his
son
,
The
gloomy
paths
of
tyranny
to
shun
;
Teach
him
to
prize
Religion's
sacred
claim
,
Teach
him
how
Virtue
leads
to
honest
fame
,
How
Freedom's
wreath
a
monarch's
brows
adorns
,
Nor
,
basely
sawning
,
plant
his
couch
with
thorns
.
Point
to
his
view
his
people's
love
alone
,
The
solid
basis
of
his
stedfast
throne
;
Chosen
by
them
their
dearest
rights
to
guard
,
The
bad
to
punish
,
and
the
good
reward
,
Clement
and
just
let
him
the
sceptre
sway
,
And
willing
subjects
shall
with
pride
obey
,
Shall
vie
to
execute
his
high
commands
,
His
throne
their
hearts
,
his
sword
and
shield
their
hands
.
Happy
the
Prince
!
thrice
firmly
fix'd
his
crown
!
Who
builds
on
publick
good
his
chaste
renown
;
Studious
to
bless
,
who
knows
no
second
aim
,
His
people's
interest
,
and
his
own
the
same
;
The
ease
of
millions
rests
upon
his
cares
,
And
thus
Heaven's
high
prerogative
he
shares
.
Wide
from
the
throne
the
blest
contagion
spreads
,
O'er
all
the
land
its
gladdening
influence
sheds
,
Faction's
discordant
sounds
are
heard
no
more
,
And
soul
Corruption
flies
the
indignant
shore
.
His
ministers
with
joy
their
courses
run
,
And
borrow
lustre
from
the
royal
sun
.
But
should
some
upstart
,
train'd
in
Slavery's
school
,
Learn'd
in
the
maxims
of
despotick
rule
,
Full
fraught
with
forms
,
and
grave
pedantick
pride
,
(
Mysterious
cloak
!
the
mind's
defects
to
hide
!
)
Sordid
in
small
things
,
prodigal
in
great
,
Saving
for
minions
,
squandering
for
the
state
—
Should
such
a
miscreant
,
born
for
England's
bane
,
Obscure
the
glories
of
a
prosperous
reign
;
Gain
,
by
the
semblance
of
each
praiseful
art
,
A
pious
prince's
unsuspecting
heart
;
Envious
of
worth
,
and
talents
not
his
own
,
Chase
all
experienc'd
merit
from
the
throne
;
To
guide
the
helm
a
motley
crew
compose
,
Servile
to
him
,
the
king's
and
country's
foes
;
Meanly
descend
each
paltry
place
to
sill
,
With
tools
of
power
,
and
plandars
to
his
will
;
Brandishing
high
the
scorpion
scourage
o'er
all
,
Except
such
slaves
as
bow
the
knee
to
Baal
—
Should
Albion's
fate
decree
the
baneful
hour
—
Short
be
the
date
of
his
detested
power
!
Soon
may
his
sovereign
break
his
iron
rods
,
And
hear
his
people
;
for
their
voice
is
God's
!
Cease
then
your
wiles
,
ye
fawning
courtiers
!
cease
,
Suffer
your
rulers
to
repose
in
peace
;
By
Reason
led
,
give
proper
names
to
things
,
God
made
them
men
,
the
people
made
them
kings
;
To
all
their
acts
but
legal
powers
belong
,
Thus
England's
Monarch
never
can
do
wrong
;
Of
right
divine
let
soolish
FILMER
dream
,
The
publick
welfare
is
the
law
supreme
.
Lives
there
a
wretch
,
whose
base
,
degenerate
soul
Can
crouch
beneath
a
tyrant's
stern
controul
?
Cringe
to
his
nod
,
ignobly
kiss
the
hand
In
galling
chains
that
binds
his
native
land
?
Purchas'd
by
gold
,
or
aw'd
by
slavish
sear
,
Abandon
all
his
ancestors
held
dear
?
Tamely
behold
that
fruit
of
glorious
toil
,
England's
Great
Charter
made
a
russian's
spoil
;
Hear
,
unconcern'd
,
his
injured
country
groan
,
Nor
stretch
an
arm
to
hurl
him
from
the
throne
?
Let
such
to
freedom
forfeit
all
their
claims
,
And
CHARLES's
minious
be
the
slaves
of
JAMES
,
But
soft
awhile
—
Now
,
CAVENDISH
,
attend
The
warm
effusions
of
thy
dying
friend
;
Fearless
who
dares
his
inmost
thoughts
reveal
,
When
thus
to
Heaven
he
makes
his
last
appeal
.
All-gracious
God
!
whose
goodness
knows
no
bounds
!
Whose
power
the
ample
universe
surrounds
!
In
whose
great
balance
,
infinitely
just
,
Kings
are
but
men
,
and
men
are
only
dust
;
At
thy
tribunal
low
thy
suppliant
falls
,
And
here
condemn'd
,
on
thee
for
mercy
calls
!
Thou
hear'st
not
,
Lord
!
an
hypocrite
complain
,
And
sure
with
thee
hypocrisy
were
vain
;
To
thy
all-piercing
eye
the
heart
lies
bare
,
Thou
know'st
my
sins
,
and
,
knowing
,
still
canst
spare
!
Though
partial
power
its
ministers
may
awe
,
And
murder
here
by
specious
forms
of
law
;
The
axe
,
which
executes
the
harsh
decree
,
But
wounds
the
flesh
,
to
set
the
spirit
free
!
Well
may
the
man
a
tyrant's
frown
despise
,
Who
,
spurning
earth
,
to
Heaven
for
refuge
flies
;
And
on
thy
mercy
,
when
his
foes
prevail
,
Builds
his
firm
trust
;
that
rock
can
never
fail
!
Hear
then
,
Jehovah
!
hear
thy
servant's
prayer
!
Be
England's
welfare
thy
peculiar
care
!
Defend
her
laws
,
her
worship
chaste
,
and
pure
,
And
guard
her
rights
while
Heaven
and
Earth
endure
!
O
let
not
ever
fell
Tyrannick
Sway
His
blood-stain'd
standard
on
her
shores
display
!
Nor
fiery
Zeal
usurp
thy
holy
name
,
Blinded
with
blood
,
and
wrapt
in
rolls
of
flame
!
In
vain
let
Slavery
shake
her
threatening
chain
,
And
Persecution
wave
her
torch
in
vain
!
Arise
,
O
Lord
!
and
hear
thy
people's
call
!
Nor
for
one
man
let
three
great
kingdoms
fall
!
O
!
that
my
blood
may
glut
the
barbarous
rage
Of
Freedom's
foes
,
and
England's
ills
asswage
!
—
Grant
but
that
prayer
,
I
ask
for
no
repeal
,
A
willing
victim
for
my
country's
weal
!
With
rapturous
joy
the
crimson
stream
shall
flow
,
And
my
heart
leap
to
meet
the
friendly
blow
!
But
should
the
fiend
,
tho'
drench'd
with
human
gore
,
Dire
Bigotry
,
insatiate
,
thirst
for
more
,
And
,
arm'd
from
Rome
,
seek
this
devoted
land
,
Death
in
her
eye
,
and
bondage
in
her
hand
—
Blast
her
fell
purpose
!
blast
her
foul
desires
!
Break
short
her
sword
,
and
quench
her
horrid
fires
!
Raise
up
some
champion
,
zealous
to
maintain
The
sacred
compact
,
by
which
monarchs
reign
!
Wise
to
foresee
all
danger
from
afar
,
And
brave
to
meet
the
thunders
of
the
war
!
Let
pure
religion
,
not
to
forms
confin'd
,
And
love
of
freedom
fill
his
generous
mind
!
Warm
let
his
breast
with
sparks
coelestial
glow
,
Benign
to
man
,
the
tyrant's
deadly
foe
!
While
sinking
nations
rest
upon
his
arm
,
Do
thou
the
great
Deliverer
shield
from
harm
!
Inspire
his
councils
!
aid
his
righteous
sword
!
Till
Albion
rings
with
Liberty
restor'd
!
Thence
let
her
years
in
bright
succession
run
!
And
Freedom
reign
coaeval
with
the
sun
.
'Tis
done
,
my
CA'NDISH
,
Heaven
has
heard
my
prayer
;
So
speaks
my
heart
,
for
all
is
rapture
there
.
To
Belgia's
coast
advert
thy
ravish'd
eyes
,
That
happy
coast
,
whence
all
our
hopes
arise
!
Behold
the
Prince
,
perhaps
thy
future
king
!
From
whose
green
years
maturest
blessings
spring
;
Whose
youthful
arm
,
when
all-o'erwhelming
Power
Ruthless
march'd
forth
,
his
country
to
devour
,
With
firm
brac'd
nerve
repell'd
the
brutal
force
,
And
stopp'd
th'
unwieldy
giant
in
his
course
.
Great
William
hail
!
who
sceptres
could
despise
,
And
spurn
a
crown
with
unretorted
eyes
!
O
!
when
will
princes
learn
to
copy
thee
,
And
leave
mankind
,
as
Heaven
ordain'd
them
,
free
!
Haste
,
mighty
chief
!
our
injur'd
rights
restore
!
Quick
spread
thy
sails
for
Albion's
longing
shore
!
Haste
,
mighty
chief
!
ere
millions
groan
enslav'd
;
And
add
three
realms
to
one
already
saved
!
While
Freedom
lives
,
thy
memory
shall
be
dear
,
And
reap
fresh
honours
each
returning
year
;
Nations
preserv'd
shall
yield
immortal
fame
,
And
endless
ages
bless
thy
glorious
name
!
Then
shall
my
CA'NDISH
,
foremost
in
the
field
,
By
justice
arm'd
,
his
sword
conspicuous
wield
;
While
willing
legions
crowd
around
his
car
,
And
rush
impetuous
to
the
righteous
war
.
On
that
great
day
be
every
chance
defied
,
And
think
thy
RUSSELL
combats
by
thy
side
;
Nor
,
crown'd
with
victory
,
cease
thy
generous
toil
,
Till
firmest
peace
secure
this
happy
isle
.
Ne'er
let
thine
honest
,
open
heart
believe
Professions
specious
,
forg'd
but
to
deceive
;
Fear
may
extort
them
,
when
resources
fail
,
But
O
!
reject
the
baseless
,
flattering
tale
.
Think
not
that
promises
,
or
oaths
can
bind
,
With
solemn
ties
,
a
Rome-devoted
mind
;
Which
yields
to
all
the
holy
juggler
saith
,
And
deep
imbibes
the
bloody
,
damning
faith
.
What
though
the
Bigot
raise
to
Heaven
his
eyes
,
And
call
the
Almighty
witness
from
the
skies
!
Soon
as
the
wish'd
occasion
he
explores
,
To
plant
the
Roman
cross
on
England's
shores
,
All
,
all
will
vanish
,
while
his
priests
applaud
,
And
saint
the
perjurer
for
the
pious
fraud
.
Far
let
him
fly
these
freedom-breathing
climes
,
And
seek
proud
Rome
,
the
fosterer
of
his
crimes
;
There
let
him
strive
to
mount
the
Papal
chair
,
And
scatter
empty
thunders
in
the
air
,
Grimly
preside
in
Superstition's
school
,
And
curse
those
kingdoms
he
could
never
rule
,
Here
let
me
pause
,
and
bid
the
world
adieu
,
While
Heaven's
bright
mansions
open
to
my
view
!
—
Yet
still
one
care
,
one
tender
care
remains
;
My
bounteous
friend
,
relieve
a
father's
pains
!
Watch
o'er
my
Son
,
inform
his
waxen
youth
,
And
mould
his
mind
to
virtue
and
to
truth
;
Soon
let
him
learn
fair
liberty
to
prize
,
And
envy
him
,
who
for
his
country
dies
;
In
one
short
sentence
to
comprize
the
whole
,
Transfuse
to
his
the
virtues
of
thy
soul
.
Preserve
thy
life
,
my
too
,
too
generous
friend
,
Nor
seek
with
mine
thy
happier
fate
to
blend
!
Live
for
thy
country
,
live
to
guard
her
laws
,
Proceed
,
and
prosper
in
the
glorious
cause
;
While
I
,
though
vanquish'd
,
scorn
the
field
to
fly
,
But
boldly
face
my
foes
,
and
bravely
die
.
Let
princely
MONMOUTH
courtly
wiles
beware
,
Nor
trust
too
far
to
fond
paternal
care
;
Too
oft
dark
deeds
deform
the
midnight
cell
,
Heaven
only
knows
how
noble
ESSEX
fell
!
SIDNEY
yet
lives
,
whose
comprehensive
mind
Ranges
at
large
through
systems
unconfin'd
;
Wrapt
in
himself
,
he
scorns
the
tyrant's
power
,
And
hurls
defiance
even
from
the
Tower
;
With
tranquil
brow
awaits
the
unjust
decree
,
And
,
arm'd
with
virtue
,
looks
to
follow
me
.
CA'NDISH
,
farewell
!
may
Fame
our
names
entwine
!
Through
life
I
lov'd
thee
,
dying
I
am
thine
;
With
pious
rites
let
dust
to
dust
be
thrown
,
And
thus
inscribe
my
monumental
stone
.
"
Here
RUSSEL
lies
,
enfranchis'd
by
the
grave
,
"
He
priz'd
his
birthright
,
nor
would
live
a
slave
.
"
Few
were
his
words
,
but
honest
and
sincere
,
"
Dear
were
his
friends
,
his
country
still
more
dear
;
"
In
parents
,
children
,
wife
,
supremely
bless'd
,
"
But
that
one
passion
swallow'd
all
the
rest
;
"
To
guard
her
freedom
was
his
only
pride
,
"
Such
was
his
love
,
and
for
that
love
he
died
.
"
Yet
fear
not
thou
,
when
Liberty
displays
Her
glorious
flag
,
to
steer
his
course
to
praise
;
For
know
,
(
whoe'er
thou
art
that
read'st
his
fate
,
And
think'st
,
perhaps
,
his
sufferings
were
too
great
,
)
Bless'd
as
he
was
,
at
her
imperial
call
,
Wife
,
children
,
parents
,
he
resign'd
them
all
;
Each
fond
affection
then
forsook
his
soul
,
And
AMOR
PATRIAE
occupied
the
whole
;
In
that
great
cause
he
joy'd
to
meet
his
doom
,
Bless'd
the
keen
axe
,
and
triumph'd
o'er
the
tomb
.
The
hour
draws
near
—
But
what
are
hours
to
me
?
Hours
,
days
,
and
years
hence
undistinguish'd
flee
!
Time
,
and
his
glass
unheeded
pass
away
,
Absorb'd
,
and
lost
in
one
vast
flood
of
day
!
On
Freedom's
wings
my
soul
is
borne
on
high
,
And
soars
exulting
to
its
native
sky
!