Epitaph On Robert Southey.

Christian! for none who scorns that holy name      Can gaze with honest eyes on Southey's fame;      Christian! bow down thy head in humble fear,      And think what God-given powers lie silenced here:      Wit, judgment, memory, patience unsubdued,      Conception vast, and pious fortitude.      Learning possessed no steeps, and truth no shore,      Beyond his step to tread, his wing to soar;      His was the historian's pen, the poet's lyre,      The churchman's ardour, and the patriot's fire;      While fireside charities, Heaven's gentlest dower,      Lent genius all their warmth and all their power.      O Church and State of England! thine was he      In living fame, thine be his memory!      Thou saw'st him live, in faith expire,      Go, bid thy sons to follow, and admire!