ON THE DEATH OF COLONEL LAURENS by PHILIP FRENEAU

SINCE on her plains this generous chief expired,
Whom sages honoured, and whom France admired;
Does Fame no statues to his memory raise,
Nor swells one column to record his praise
Where her palmetto shades the adjacent deeps,
Affection sighs, and Carolina weeps!

Thou, who shalt stray where death this chief confines,
Revere the patriot, subject of these lines:
Not from the dust the muse transcribes his name,
And more than marble shall declare his fame
Where scenes more glorious his great soul engage,
Confest thrice worthy in that closing page
When conquering Time to dark oblivion calls,
The marble totters, and the column falls.

LAURENS! thy tomb while kindred hands adorn,
Let northern muses, too, inscribe your urn. --
Of all, whose names on death's black list appear,
No chief, that perished, claimed more grief sincere,
Not one, Columbia, that thy bosom bore,
More tears commanded, or deserved them more! --
Grief at his tomb shall heave the unwearied sigh,
And honour lift the mantle to her eye:
Fame thro' the world his patriot name shall spread,
By heroes envied and by monarchs read:
Just, generous, brave -- to each true heart allied:
The Briton's terror, and his country's pride;
For him the tears of war-worn soldiers ran,
The friend of freedom, and the friend of man.

Then what is death, compared with such a tomb,
Where honour fades not, and fair virtues bloom,
When silent grief on every face appears,
The tender tribute of a nation's tears;
Ah! what is death, when deeds like his thus claim
The brave man's homage, and immortal fame!

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