A chaplet from the Sybil leaves
Of recollection--let the light
Of truth upon his lines be bright.
May he with reverential tread
Approach the dwellings of the dead,
Seeking for some sweet flower of good
Within their solemn solitude:
And if he finds in fadeless bloom
Around some well remember'd tomb,
Some cherish'd record of the past
Which has defied time's rudes blast,
And down futurity's deep vale
Shed fragrance on the passing gale,
Love's labor, then, the task will be,
My gentle Muse, for thee and me.
'Mongst those of old remember'd well,
John Wade doth in my memory dwell,
A wit of most undoubted feather--
A mighty advocate of leather--
A solemn man too, when required.
With healing instincts deeply fired,
He with claw-instrument could draw
Teeth deftly from an aching jaw,
And ready was his lancet too
When nothing short of blood would do;
Relieved he many a racking pain,
When shall we see his like again?
And William Tormey, stern and straight,
A man who came ere '28,
Chief of the men who kept the fire on