62 MR. HOWARD'S ACCOUNT OF LAZARETTOS.

For when the vanities of life's brief day
Oblivion's hurrying wing shall sweep away,
Each act by Charity and Mercy done,

High o'er the wrecks of time, shall live alone
Immortal as the heav'ns, and beauteous bloom
To other worlds, and realms beyond the tomb.

THE

GRAVE OF HOWARD.

"His saitem accumulem donis, et fungar inanl

"Munere."

VIRG.

THE

GRAVE OF HOWARD.

SPIRIT of Death! whose outstretch'd pennons dread
Wave o'er the world beneath their shadow spread,
Who darkly speedest on thy destin'd way,

Mid shrieks, and cries, and sounds of dire dismay;
Spirit! behold thy victory-assume

A form more terrible, an ampler plume;
For He, who wander'd o'er the world alore,
List'ning to Misery's universal moan;

He, who, sustain'd by Virtue's arm sublime,
Tended the sick and poor from clime to clime,
Low in the dust is laid-thy noblest spoil!

And Mercy ceases from her awful toil!

'Twas where the pestilence at thy command Arose to desolate the sick'ning land,

When many a mingl'd cry and dying pray'r
Resounded to the list'ning midnight air,

When deep dismay heard not the frequent knell,
And the wan carcase fester'd as it fell:

'Twas there, with holy Virtue's awful mien,
Amid the sad sights of that fearful scene,

Calm he was found: the dews of death he dry'd;
He spoke of comfort to the poor that cry'd;
He watch'd the fading eye, the flagging breath,
Ere yet the languid sense was lost in death;
And with that look protecting angels wear,
Hung o'er the dismal couch of pale despair!

Friend of mankind! thy righteous task is o'er; The heart, that throbb'd with pity, beats no more.

Around the limits of this rolling sphere, Where'er the just and good thy tale shall hear, A tear shall fall: alone, amidst the gloom Of the still dungeon, his long sorrow's tomb, The captive, mourning o'er his chain, shall bend To think the cold earth holds his only friend!