ORIGINAL POETRY. SIR ROBERT PEEL.

New Zealander, Volume 7, Issue 558, 20 August 1851, Page 4

ORIGINAL POETRY. SIR ROBERT PEEL.

There nas a pause— a troubled day When men saw naught but nerveless hands Stretch'd impotently forth to sway The baton over many lands. In vain for one stout heart they pray Amongst those lordly bands. Then eyes went back one little year, And sad hearts mourn'd again for him Who cold on his supulchral bier Discerns not England's light is dim— And flows again the bitter tear A nation's funeral hymn. Perchance to bless his memory more, On England's weaker sons this fell, To make e'en foes, their hatred o'er, Confess he bravely fought, and well, The battle which they shrunk before; Alone, invincible! Yes, such his fame, for him let pass All rich remembrances of art, For him no monumental brass Need play its perishable part! A deathless monument he has Within each English heart. E'en I, whose silent harp has mourn'd, Cannot refrain a requiem now, Nor be the humble oft 'ring scorn'd Because it cannot wreath his brow, Nor bind it with more honours round Than fitly bind it now. I would that with a Virgil's tongue Our own Mecoenas* I could praise, Then had thy worth been not unsung Embodied in immortal lays, But over distant lands been flung The perfume of thy bays. Go to thy rest— a Statesman sure, Gifted alike in heart and head, The champion of the suffering poor— So o'er thy last, and goodliest bed Ever be this inscription read, "Who gave the poor Man Bread." St. George. Auckland, August 12th, 1851.

* The patron of learning at Rome in the time of the poet Virgil.