Haply the mighty fabric may arise,
Vast in its bulk, and aiming at the skies,
Till Wisdom, viewing the enormous pile,
Admires the madness of a man the while,
Who labours with incessant toil and skill;
To feed Ambition, discontented still;
And for that serpent in his bosom curl'd,
Erects a temple fit to hold the world!
Though such a chief a deathless wreath may crown,
Though he may win a sterile, hard renown,
His name shall ne'er a sudden glow impart,
Nor make the tear of admiration start;
Ne'er in his plaudits shall warm blessings join!
None cry, "The triumph of that man is mine!"
But, when his greatness crumbles in the dust,
Coldly exclaim, "Lo! Providence is just!"
Far different is the patriot warrior's lot!
He may in Time's long journey be forgot;
Though many generations shall decay,
Ere England's love to Nelson wears away!
But if at length successive years should cast
The mist of distance upon ages past,
And fathers what themselves have witness'd tell,
Of those who yet shall serve their country well--
Memory and Knowledge shall dispel the gloom,
And shed strong light on every honour'd tomb--
To lift the spirit when our courage fail,
When worth departed, future ages hail!
And ye, compeers, who in the classic page,
Do homage to the hero and the sage,
Whose hearts at base and cruel actions bleed,
But rise triumphant at a noble deed--
Forbear from Duty's anxious side to stray,
But follow bravely when she leads the way;
Follow with head and heart, as Nelson fought;
Be vigilant like him in act and thought;
Then, as the lark mounts upwards in the skies,
Early in life's fair morning will you rise,
Expand bold pinions nearest to the sun,
And claim the meed of glory fairly won.
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