To the Countess of Arran, on the Decease of Gen. Sir W. Napier

You, who can trace with golden pen
The features of departed men,
Leave darling Poesy awhile
On weaker, giddier, heads to smile.
Now two less happy years are gone
And Sorrow further off has flown,
Show how your father knew to blend
The sage, the soldier, and the friend,
To make even History love Truth,
At variance from their early youth.