THUS, some tall tree that long hath stood The glory of its native wood, By storms destroyed, or length of years, Demands the tribute of our tears. The pile, that took long time to raise, To dust returns by slow decays; But, when its destined years are o'er, We must regret the loss the more. So long accustomed to your aid, The world laments your exit made; So long befriended by your art, Philosopher, 't is hard to part! -- When monarchs tumble to the ground Successors easily are found; But, matchless Franklin! what a few Can hope to rival such as you, Who seized from kings their sceptred pride, And turned the lightning's darts aside! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...HORACE TO LEUCONOE by EDWIN ARLINGTON ROBINSON OLD TRAILS by EDWIN ARLINGTON ROBINSON A MOTHER TO HER WAKING INFANT by JOANNA BAILLIE MY GARDEN by THOMAS EDWARD BROWN A BOOK OF AIRS: SONG 19. THE FAIRY QUEEN PROSERPINA by THOMAS CAMPION BY BLUE ONTARIO'S SHORE by WALT WHITMAN |