A Jacobite's Epitaph
Thomas Babington Macaulay
1800 to 1859
Track 1
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Heard on Lavernia Scargill's whispering trees,
And pined by Arno for my lovelier Tees;
O'er English dust. A broken heart lies here.
By those white cliffs I never more must see,
For him I threw lands, honours, wealth, away,
Till God, who saw me tried too sorely, gave
Gray-hair'd with sorrow in my manhood's prime;
To my true king I offer'd free from stain
Courage and faith; vain faith, and courage vain.
By that dear language which I spake like thee,
For him I languish'd in a foreign clime,
The resting-place I ask'd, an early grave.
From that proud country which was once mine own,
Each morning started from the dream to weep;
Beheld each night my home in fever'd sleep,
Forget all feuds, and shed one English tear
And one dear hope, that was more prized than they.
O thou, whom chance leads to this nameless stone,