On the Death of G. P. R. James, at Venice

Where upon earth shall now be found
Fancy so bright, and thought so sound,
As thine, O James ! to England lost
When England wants thy genius most.

What various scenes thy pencil drew !
What vast creations start to view !

The brave and beauteous, proud and grand,
Come readily at thy command.

Again their destinies I read,
Forwarn'd in vain my breast must bleed.
Alighting on some sunnier part,
I think how far from home thou art.

How far from all who loved thee most.

Save one, upon Venetia's coast.

Where even Manin could not save
A people, nor secure a grave.