EPITAPH ON ROBERT SOUTHEY.

Christian! for none who scorns that holy name

Can gaze with honest eyes on Southey's fame;

Christian! bow down thy head in humble fear,

And think what God-given powers lie silenced here:

Wit, judgment, memory, patience unsubdued,

Conception vast, and pious fortitude.

Learning possessed no steeps, and truth no shore,

Beyond his step to tread, his wing to soar;

His was the historian's pen, the poet's lyre,

The churchman's ardour, and the patriot's fire;

While fireside charities, Heaven's gentlest dower,

Lent genius all their warmth and all their power.

O Church and State of England! thine was he

In living fame, thine be his memory!

Thou saw'st him live, in faith expire,

Go, bid thy sons to follow, and admire!