Nor mourn ye less his perished worth, Who bade the conqueror go forth, 80 And launch'd that thunderbolt of war On Egypt, Hafnia, Trafalgar; Who, born to guide such high emprize, For Britain's weal was early wise; Alas! to whom the Almighty gave, 85 For Britain's sins, an early grave! His worth, who, in his mightiest hour, A bauble held the pride of power, Spum'd at the sordid lust of pelf, And served his Albion for herself; 90 Who, when the frantic crowd amain Strain'd at subjection's bursting rein, O'er their wild mood full conquest gain'd, The pride, he would not crush, restrain'd, Show'd their fierce zeal a worthier cause, 95 And brought the freeman's arm, to aid the freeman's laws. Had'st thou but lived, though stripp'd of power, A watchman on the lonely tower, Thy thrilling trump had roused the land, When fraud or danger were at hand; 100 By thee, as by the beacon-light, Our pilots had kept course aright; As some proud column, though alone, Thy strength had propp'd the tottering throne: Now is the stately column broke, 105 The beacon-light is quench'd in smoke, The trumpet's silver sound is still, The warder silent on the hill! Oh, think, how to his latest day, When Death, just hovering, claim'd his prey, 110 With Palinure's unalter'd mood, Firm at his dangerous post he stood; Each call for needful rest repell'd, With dying hand the rudder held, Till, in his fall, with fateful sway, 115 The steerage of the realm gave way! Then, while on Britain's thousand plains, One unpolluted church remains, Whose peaceful bells ne'er sent around The bloody tocsin's maddening sound, 120 But still, upon the hallow'd day, Convoke the swains to praise and pray; While faith and civil peace are dear, Grace this cold marble with a tear,- He, who preserved them, PITT, lies here! 125