Here, from those honored lips, which sacred fire From Heaven’s high chancery hath touched, they hear Truths which their zeal inflame, their hopes inspire, Give wings to faith, and check affliction’s tear. When life flowed by, and, like an angel, Death Came to release them to the world on high, Praise trembled still on each expiring breath, And holy triumph beamed from every eye. Then gentle hands their “dust to dust” consign; With quiet tears, the simple rites are said, And here they sleep, till at the trump divine, The earth and ocean render up their dead. These lines, which originally appeared anonymously in an American Newspaper, are quoted in _Relics of Literature_. by Stephen Collett, A.M. London. Thomas Boys, 1823. (“Stephen Collett” was said to be a name assumed by Thomas Byerley.) ―――― THE FOUNDLINGS. _An Elegy._ Far from the madding Tumults of the Town, Which where bright _thought_ should reign usurp the seat; Far from those Tempests which Reflection drown, I seek with breathless Haste a calm Retreat. * * * * * An anonymous imitation, published in quarto, by William Flexney, London. 1763. ―――― AN EVENING CONTEMPLATION in a French Prison: Being a humble Imitation of Gray’s _Elegy in a Country Church Yard_. By H. P. HOUGHTON, _Now an English Prisoner at Arras in France._ London. J. Burditt. 1809. The Sun’s bright orb, retiring, dimly glares, In strict compliance with the law of power; Each pris’ner to his cheerless roof repairs; And I, in thought, amuse the vacant hour. Now sable Night, o’er all her mantle throws, And solemn silence reigns throughout the yard; Save where yon vet’ran to his station goes, A poor, disabled, solitary guard! Save that from yonder room in mournful strains, With melancholy tone, and plaintive air, Some tender Father, to the Night complains Of children left without a parent’s care. Within these ramparts, by fam’d Vauban made, Where hapless youths for Freedom learn to weep, On beds of humble straw, till morning laid, The brave and dauntless Sons of Neptune sleep. * * * * * ―――― AN ELEGY _Wrote under a Gallows._ Dun-vested Twilight now along the sky, With tardy moving pace, begins to creep; Towards their solemn gloom wrap’d mansions fly The ebon rooks, spread o’er the mountain steep. Where this bald barren spot of earth expands, Deck’d with no shade of plant, or flow’rets smile, Rear’d by some skill-conducted artist’s hands, A gallows frowns a terror striking pile! * * * * * By Hugh Downman, A.B. Printed in Edinburgh, 1768.