Of this strange mortal passed away?
His was a genius burning bright
With brilliant and uncertain light--
Proud in inventive dignity,
And dark in inmate mystery,
It flickered only, when sublime,
It might have left a light for time,
And wondering mortals to admire,
Tis gone! I saw its flame expire.
And John R. Stanley was among
Old Bytown's well remembered throng,
Whom memory's tuneful measure bears
Back from the shades of other years.
R.W. Cruice in ancient days
Was fond of mirth and sporting ways;
I had almost forgot to tell
How he on horseback cut a swell,
And made a fleet and daring rush
At Barry's hunt and won "the brush,"
When sportsmen gathered full of glee
Around the famed J.P., M.D.
And here diverging from my road
Into a little episode,
I'll tear at once with gesture brief
From memory's book a comic leaf,
A tale from cobweb's volume hoary
Of this Sangrado in his glory,
Many will recollect the story.
Edward Barry, grave J.P.,
Sometimes was given to a spree,