Page:Poems - Lewis (1812).djvu/115

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Here will I pause, our pious requiem pour,
And greet his exit from Life's tragic stage;
Nor ask, what name the exalted sufferer bore,
Nor how 'tis blazoned on the historic page.

Whether in Valour's lists He vainly toiled,
Or Conquest clasped him with her crimson hand;
Whether tyrannic Pride his purple soiled,
Or patriot Subjects loved his mild command;

Whether, fair Peace, He held thy olive dear,
Or stretched his power o'er many a bleeding state,
What-e'er his deeds, his station claims a tear;
What-e'er his faults, his griefs were sure as great.

Treason's chief Victim, Policy's prime Tool,
Feared by the Weak, Derided by the Strong,
Jest of the Stoic, Envy of the Fool,
When right the Nation's Slave, the Nation's
Curse when wrong;