No further can fate tempt or try me, With guerdon of pleasure or pain; Ere the noon of my life has sped by me, The last of my race I remain. To that home so long left I might journey; But they for whose greeting I yearn, Are launched on that shadowy ocean Whence voyagers never return. My life is a blank in creation, My fortunes no kindred may share; No brother to cheer desolation, No sister to soften by prayer; No father to gladden my triumphs, No mother my sins to atone; No children to lean on in dying-- I must finish my journey alone! In that hall, where their feet tripp'd before me, How lone would now echo my tread! While each fading portrait threw o'er me The chill, stony smile of the dead. One sad thought bewilders my slumbers, From eve till the coming of dawn: I cry out in visions, "_Where are they_?" And echo responds, "_They are gone_!" But fain, ere the life-fount grows colder, I'd wend to that lone, distant place, That row of green hillocks, where moulder The rest of my early doom'd race. There slumber the true and the manly, There slumber the spotless and fair; And when my last journey is ended, My place of repose be it there! [Decoration] [Decoration] XX. _THE TWO GEORGES._ Between the years of our Lord 1730 and 1740, two men were born on opposite sides of the Atlantic Ocean, whose lives were destined to exert a commanding influence on the age in which they lived, as well as to control the fortunes of many succeeding generations. One was by birth a plain peasant, the son of a Virginia farmer; the other an hereditary Prince, and the heir of an immense empire. It will be the main object of this sketch to trace the histories of these two individuals, so dissimilar in their origin, from birth to death, and show how it happened that one has left a name synonymous with tyranny, whilst the other will descend to the lowest posterity, radiant with immortal glory, and renowned the world over as the friend of virtue, the guardian of liberty, and the benefactor of his race.