My life : a record of events and opinions - Wallace-online.org

—!—;62 MY LIFEexcited much indignation among his admirers.Oneof these wrote some lines on the subject which struckme as being so worthy of the occasion that I learntthem by heart, and by constant repetition (on sleeplessnights) have never forgotten them. They wereprinted in the newspaper without a signature, and Ihave never been able to learn who was the author ofthem. I give them here to show the kind of poetryI admired then and still enjoy"Away with epitaph and sculptured bustLeave these to decorate the mouldering dustOf him who needs such substitutes for fameThe chisel's pomp to deck a worthless name.Away with these ! A Byron needs them notNature herself selects a deathless spot,A nation's heart : the Poet cannot die,His epitaph is Immortality.What are earth's mansions to a tomb like this ?When time hath swept into forgetfulnessWealth-blazoned halls and gorgeous cemeteries.The mouldering Abbey with its sculptured lies,His name, emblazoned in the wild, the free,The deep, the beautiful of earth, shall beDark and wildA household word with millions.His song at times, his spirit was the childOf burning passion.Yet when he awokeFrom his dark hours of bondage, when he brokeHis cage and seized his harp, did he not makeA peal of matchless melody and shakeThe very earth with joy ? Still thrills the heartOf man at those sweet notes ; sacred despots startTo curse them from their thrones ; they pierce the cellAnd cheer the captive in his chains ; they tellLessons of life to struggling liberty.Death mars the man but spares his memory.Nor tears one laurel from his wreath of fame.How many glorious thoughts of his we claimOur heritage for ever ; beacon lightsTo guide the barque of freedom through the nightsOf tyranny and woe, when not a starOf hope looks down to glad the mariner :Thoughts which must ever haunt us, like some dreamOf childhood which we ne'er forget, a gleam"Of sunshine flashing o'er life's troubled stream !