Burlington hawk-eye. [volume] (Burlington, Iowa) 1845-185?, 1850-06-27
For the Burlington Hawk. Eye.
OBITUARY STANZAS
To the Pees Wordsworth 4 Mrs Osxood.

To the Peet Wordsworth & Mrs OsSood.
BY PROF. J. PIERsON.
FluviOs dun, pisces amabit;
DumQue thyme pascentur apis, dunn cicada:
Ssmper honOs, nomenQue tuum laudesque manebunt.
Bucolica, &c lin 1918.
Two gifted ones have left their zenith place,
Where they a. stars illum'd the orb OF earth,
And blest its climes with mild refulgent rays,
And fir'd the cold in heart to song and mirth.
One meath a Monarch's sceptre had his birth,
And rose to greatness mid Britania's sky,
Attracted Nations to his path on high.
The other dawn'd upon our own bright land;
Caught up lutte which long in silence hung,
And as she threw DER it her snow white hand
Responsive to its touch sweet numbers rung,
As il angel hand its sounding chords had strung.
But darkness rests on Rydal's classic hill,
And gone the light that cheer'd its groves at morn
Which woke lone Echo slumbring by the rill,
And rous'd the nodding songster on the thorn.
See, too, Urania's is left forlorn,
Where the old bard at prime Of morning stole,
And breath'd thro Nature up to God his soul,
In thought warm-fowing from his hearts pure
shrine
Truth imag'd thought the noblest theme Of song;
Bright too, as gems from rich Cipango's mine
In round smooth verse, yet rapid deep and strong;
Which future years will roll with envious pride
along.
Great Master of the Tyre, what hand shall string
Those tuneful chords which thou hast left un-
strung;
Who call the Sisters from Aonia's Spring
To trill thy numbers with sweet warbling tongue,
Which long on British ears so fondly rung;
For Byron sleeps and southey is no more,
And Little's palmy days of song is DER;
No bard survives to wake anew thy Lyle,
Which at thy touch swelpd forth its mighty tone
Kindling the soul with Genius wasting fire
And gave it force and feeling not its own
the Sage, the Wit, and Monarch on his
throne.
But ali! no more mid Rydal's sylvan shade
At eve or morn the Druid bard will stray,
To thread its glooms or roam the the furry glade
To WOO the Muse or chant his thrilling lay,
Or fir'd with song, sing down the king of day;
For Death who neither spares the weak or
strong
Hath quenched the light that warm'd the man
of song
Cold pillow'd on the lap Of parent earth
Low lies the laureate bard, Times honor'd great
All! gift of song; sweet gem Of heavenly birth
By Want caress'd thro' Life's tempestuous strait;
Till Death deplores thy lot and grasps thee from
thy fate.
And those whose heart vast wed to Saphic song
Who sung by Hingham's brook thy plairtive lay
Lorn sounding urg'd the riphng stream along,
Till it in sweetness wept itself away,
To mngle with the music notes that play;
Melodious breathings swelling up to heav'n
AS soft as the still hush of mellow even,
When the winds rest and the thin azure shows
Each tint the closing eye Of day has given
To all that charms without or inward glews
Calming the troubled heart and worId-ward
driven;
Each wo that pangs the soul which long with earth
has striven.
But thou art gone, who W On Fame's .i,io wreath,
The du. .ling pageant of the Poets dream;
Who for it long years trod the blasted heath
Or haunted side of forest shaded stream,
Or safe on topping crag by Dian's beam, (tran
To see the wood-crown'd Sisters't sportivc
Trip the light dance to Driad warbled strain;
Twas then thy heart felt the enraptur'd glow
That thrills the soul with all the charm of song;
And caus'd the sweet impassioned verse to flow;
Like him Of old amid the inspir'd throngt
Awaking Hingham's groves which still thy strains
prolong.
But thou art cold-the flame that warm'd thee fed
And Auburn wraps thee with its myrtle shade;
Reclin'd on earth now rests thy wreath crown'd
head,
The niche where Genius sacred fire was laid
And with its own creations fondly play'd:
As living creatures sent them out DER earth
To rouse its peopled hills to love and mirth;
But it is dark! alas that thing bright,
Like Judah's Trim, should thus pass away;
And rid the earth forever of its light;
But here its ashes lie here genius stray
md pour thy tribute tears, here sleeps no common
clay.
Burlington, June 10th 1850.