When wit and genius meet their doom
In all devouring flame,
They tell us of the fate of Rome,
And bid us fear the same.
O'er Murray's loss the Muses wept,
They felt the rude alarm,
Yet blessed the guardian care that kept
His sacred head from harm.
There memory, like the bee that's fed
From Flora's balmy store,
The quintessence of all he read
Had treasured up before.
The lawless herd, with fury blind,
Have done him cruel wrong;
The flowers are gone, - but still we find
The honey on his tongue.
More verses by William Cowper
- On The Same By Palladas
- On The Queen's Visit To London, The Night Of The 17th March 1789
- On The Receipt Of A Hamper. (In The Manner Of Homer)
- Ovid. Trist. Lib. V. Elegy Xii.
- Pernicious Weed!