Thomas Gent Poems

Swift through the land while Fame transported flies,
And shouts triumphant shake the illumin'd skies;
Britannia, bending o'er her dauntless prows,
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Oh! best belov'd of heaven, on earth bestow'd
To raise the pilgrim, sunk with ghastly fears,
To cool his burning wounds, to wipe his tears,
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Ill-Fated hour! oft as thy annual reign
Leads on th'autumnal tide, my pinion'd joys
Fade with the glories of the fading year;
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O Love! divinest dream of youth,
Thy day of ecstacy is o'er,
My bosom, touch'd by time and truth,
Thrills at thy dear deceits no more.
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On a Delightful Drawing in my Album by By my friend, T. Woodward, ESQ., of a Group, consisting of a consisting of a Donkey A Boy and A dog
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Another awful warning voice of death
To human dignity, and human pride;
'Tis sad, to mark how short the longest life-
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Mute, memory stands, at valor's awful shrine,
In tears Britannia mourns her hero dead;
A world's regret, brave Abercrombie's thine.
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Lamented Chief! at thy distinguish'd deeds
The world shall gaze with wonder and applause,
While, on fair hist'ry's page, the patriot reads
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Oh, Youth! could dark futurity reveal
Her hidden worlds, unlock her cloud-hung gates,
Or snatch the keys of mystery from time,
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She sat in beauty, like some form of nymph
Or naiad, on the mossy, purpled bank
Of her wild woodland stream, that at her feet
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