Death, why so cruel? What! no other way To manifest thy spleen, but thus to slay Our hopes of safety, liberty, our all, Which, through thy tyranny, with him must fall To its late chaos? Had thy rigid force Been dealt by retail, and not thus in gross, Grief had been silent. Now we must complain, Since thou, in him, hast more than thousands slain, Whose lives and safeties did so much depend On him their life, with him their lives must end. If 't be a sin to think Death brib'd can be We must be guilty; say 'twas bribery Guided the fatal shaft. Virginia's foes, To whom for secret crimes just vengeance owes Deservèd plagues, dreading their just desert, Corrupted Death by Paracelsian art Him to destroy; whose well-tried courage such, Their heartless hearts, nor arms, nor strength could touch. Who now must heal those wounds, or stop that blood The Heathen made, and drew into a flood? Who is't must plead our cause? nor trump, nor drum, Nor Deputation; these, alas! are dumb And cannot speak. Our arms (though ne'er so strong) Will want the aid of his commanding tongue, Which conquer'd more than Cæsar. He o'erthrew Only the outward frame; this could subdue The rugged works of nature. Souls replete With dull chill cold, he'd animate with heat Drawn forth of reason's limbec. In a word, Mars and Minerva both in him concurred For arts, for arms, whose pen and sword alike As Cato's did, may admiration strike Into his foes; while they confess withal It was their guilt styl'd him a criminal. Only this difference does from truth proceed: They in the guilt, he in the name must bleed. While none shall dare his obsequies to sing In deserv'd measures; until time shall bring Truth crown'd with freedom, and from danger free To sound his praises to posterity. Here let him rest; while we this truth report, He's gone from hence unto a higher Court To plead his cause, where he by this doth know Whether to Cæsar he was friend or foe. Jamestown never recovered from the blow which Bacon dealt it. The location was so unhealthy that it could not attract new settlers, and though some of the houses which had been burned were subsequently rebuilt, the town's day of greatness was past. The seat of government was removed to Williamsburg, and the old settlement dropped gradually to decay. ODE TO JAMESTOWN Old cradle of an infant world, In which a nestling empire lay, Struggling awhile, ere she unfurled Her gallant wing and soared away; All hail! thou birthplace of the glowing west, Thou seem'st the towering eagle's ruined nest! What solemn recollections throng, What touching visions rise, As, wandering these old stones among, I backward turn mine eyes, And see the shadows of the dead flit round, Like spirits, when the last dread trump shall sound.