On the Death of Mr Pitt

And art thou departed, ere yet from the field
The tidings of glory are borne ?
O, art thou departed, our bulwark, our shield,
And live I thy exit to mourn ?
Our country's horizon for ever is shorn ;
Of a splendour that stedfastly shone ;
The darkness is shed, and the storm is gone forth ;
Our sun and our moon have both dropped to the earth ;
The child of the mighty is come to the birth,
But the strength of the parent is gone.

O, PITT ! I may wail thee, and wail without blame,
For here cannot party deride ;
'Twas in the lone wild I first heard of thy name,
With Nature alone for my guide ;
That taught me to love thee — my boast and my pride
Thenceforth thou hast been, and shalt be :
I read, and I wondered — but still I read on ;
My bosom heaved high with an ardour unknown,
But I found it congenial in all with thine own,
And I took up my rest under thee.

I wondered when senators sternly expressed
Disgust at each motion of thine ;
For I was as simple as babe at the breast,
And their motives I could not divine.
I knew not — and still small the knowledge is mine —
Of the passions that mankind dissever ; —
That minds there are framed like the turbulent ocean,
That fumes on its barriers with ceaseless commotion—
On the rock that stands highest, commanding devotion,
There dash its rude billows for ever.

They said thou wert proud — I have pondered it long —
I have tried thee by plummet and line —
Have weighed in the balance the right and the wrong,
And am forced in the charge to combine.
They called thee ambitious — a censure condign !

I know it — I own it was true !
But it was of thy Country alone thou wert proud,
Thy Ambition was all for her glory and good ;
For these thy proud heart a wild torrent withstood.

Which broke what it could not subdue.