James and Mary Ford, eds. Every Day in the Year. 1902.
January 29On the Death of George the Third
By Horace Smith (17791849)
I
Walking in health and gladness,
Begirt with his court; and in all the crowd
Not a single look of sadness.
Blithely the birds were singing;
The cymbals replied to the tambourine,
And the bells were merrily ringing.
When not a word was spoken—
When every eye was dim with a tear,
And the silence by sobs was broken.
To the muffled drums, deep rolling,
While the minute-gun, with its solemn roar,
Drowned the death-bells’ tolling.
To the grave till I saw him carried—
Was an age of the mightiest change to us,
But to him a night unvaried.
And a son’s sole child, have perished;
And sad was each heart, save only the one
By which they were fondest cherished;
For his eyes were sealed and his mind was dark,
And he sat in his age’s lateness—
Like a vision throned, as a solemn mark
Of the frailty of human greatness;
Unvexed by life’s commotion,
Like a yearly lengthening snow-drift shed
On the calm of a frozen ocean.
Though the stream of life kept flowing;
When they spoke of our king, ’twas but to say
The old man’s strength was going.
By weakness rent asunder,
A piece of the wreck of the Royal George,
To the people’s pity and wonder.
Death’s hand his slumbers breaking;
For the coffined sleep of the good and just
Is a sure and blissful waking.
And should sculptured stone be denied him,
There will his name be found, when in turn
We lay our heads beside him.