Note 51 — Chapter XIX

"Lamented hero! when to Britain's shore Exulting Fame those awful tidings bore, Joy's bursting shout in whelming grief was drowned And Victory's self unwilling audience found; On every brow the cloud of sadness hung; The sounds of triumph died on every tongue. Yet not the vows thy weeping country pays; Not that high meed, thy mourning sovereign's praise, Not that the great, the beauteous, and the brave Bend in mute reverence o'er thy closing grave; That with such grief as bathes a kindred bier Collective nations mourn a death so dear; Not these alone shall soothe thy sainted shade, And consecrate the spot where thou art laid— Not these alone!—but bursting thro' the gloom, With radiant glory from thy trophied tomb, The sacred splendour of thy deathless name Shall grace and guard thy country's martial fame; Far seen shall blaze the unextinguished ray, A mighty beacon lighting glory's way— With living lustre this proud land adorn, And shine, and save, thro' ages yet unborn."[52]