Edmund Clarence Stedman, ed. (1833–1908). A Victorian Anthology, 1837–1895. 1895.
Ebenezer Elliott 17811849Elegy on William Cobbett
O
And where the winds can blow;
And let the sun weep o’er his pall
As to the grave ye go!
Beside the growing corn,
Lay gentle Nature’s stern prose bard,
Her mightiest peasant-born.
That bees may murmur near,
When o’er his last home bend the brave,
And say—“A man lies here!”
Though rashly oft he spoke;
And none can scorn, and few will blame,
The low-laid heart of oak.
E’en factious hate consents
To reverence, in the fallen tree,
His British lineaments.
The thunder’s gather’d scowl,
Not always through his darkness rav’d
The storm-winds of the soul.
Morn met his forehead bold;
And breezy evening sang her psalm
Beneath his dew-dropp’d gold.
With his rich bronze compar’d,
While many a youngling’s songful sire
His acorn’d twiglets shar’d.
Where clouds with light were riven;
And true love sought his bluebell’d shade,
“To bless the hour of heaven.”
And guilt quak’d at the sound,
Beneath the frown that shook the proud
The poor a shelter found.
The thunder of thy brow,
Speak with strange tongues in many lands,
And tyrants hear thee, now!
Inspir’d by thy renown,
Shall future patriots rise to fame,
And many a sun go down.