Verses Poem by Janet Little

OUR regal seat to Edward fallen a prey,
Our Chief's insulted corse his victim lay;
Our ruin'd land no monument could raise;
Yet grateful bards still sung his heart-felt praise.
Long ages hence her hero still she'll mourn;
Still her brave sons with emulation burn.
His spirit guarding still our native place,
Proclaims this mandate to his latest race:
'Let sacred truth bid living fame be thine;
'Ne'er trust for honour to a sculptur'd shrine.
'Those modest merits marbles ne'er impart,
'Love writes them deepest on the human heart.'

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Thus mid thy race did their lov'd Henry dwell,
Whose dust shall mix thy memory with Tell :
Truth, honour, spirit animate that form,
Which beauty, grace, and symmetry adorn.
Here that rich blossom dropp'd, scarce fairly blown;
The friend, the husband, father we bemoan!
Wail by the grave a mother's cheerless throes,
And share a widow's agonizing woes!
Dear youth, thy name to latest time descends,
Where gentle virtues made mankind thy friends.
From no vain marble need you borrow fame;
Truth, love and friendship, here embalm thy name.
A parent's silver hairs bestrew thy shrine;
Her griefs were mortal, but her joys sublime:
In tears we mourn the body laid to rest;
She hails thy spotless soul 'mid angels blest.