SIR WALTER SCOTT

And the firm Russian's purpose brave Was bartered by a timorous slave Even then dishonour's peace he spurn'd, The sullied olive-branch return'd, Stood for his country's glory fast, And nail'd her colours to the mast! Heaven, to reward his firmness, gave A portion in this honour'd grave ; And ne'er held marble in its trust Of two such wondrous men the dust.

With more than mortal powers endow'd,

How high they soar'd above the crowd!

Theirs was no common party race,

Jostling by dark intrigue for place ;

Like fabled gods, their mighty war

Shook realms and nations in its jar;

Beneath each banner proud to stand,

Look'd up the noblest of the land,

Till through the British world were known

The names of PITT and Fox alone.

Spells of such force no wizard grave

E'er framed in dark Thessalian cave,

Though his could drain the ocean dry,

And force the planets from the sky.

These spells are spent, and, spent with these,

The wine of life is on the lees.

Genius, and taste, and talent gone,

For ever tomb'd beneath the stone,

Where Naming thought to human pride !

The mighty chiefs sleep side by side.

Drop upon Fox's grave the tear,

'Twill trickle to his rival's bier ;

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