For them the voice of festal mirth Grows hushed, their name the only sound; While deep Remembrance pours to Worth The goblet's tributary round. A theme to crowds that knew them not, Who would not share their glorious lot? And, gallant Parker! thus enshrined Thy life, thy fall, thy fame shall be ; And early valour, glowing, find A model in thy memory. But there are breasts that bleed with thee In woe, that glory cannot quell; And shuddering hear of victory, Where one so dear, so dauntless, fell. Where shall they turn to mourn thee less? When cease to hear thy cherished name? Time cannot teach forgetfulness, While Grief's full heart is fed by Fame. Alas! for them, though not for thee, Who ne'er gave cause to mourn before. |