Heroic Mourn


Mourn’d be the Heroes of Times Past,
Of stalwart Virtue unsurpass’d;
Adorn’d by fortune’s gentle boon
E’er worthy of the Muse’s tune.
With gentle songs their deeds she Prais’d;
Her courtly sound, the Savage Rais’d
Above the low and wretched State,
From which the Beast cannot escape.
Their acts of virtue when conveyed,
Through emulation, Man persuade
The’nfernal Vices to deplore,
And Noble actions to adore.

Did Ulysses, Man not inspire
To calm the passions of desire?
Twas’ Prudence that came to his Aid
Whilst others, with their lives repaid
That debt that mortal Men incur,
But few accept without demur.
The fools, that hasten’d their demise;
They made our Hero seem more Wise.
Though years elaps’d, ere his home would reach,
Enduring wisdom did his Journey teach.

But now such language none do speak,
And all these notions sound like Greek.
As Homer’s virtues we deflate
And in our language we translate
His noble style, that we defame;
Like Patroclus, who took the name
Of brave Achilles’ mighty fame
And thought that so they’d be the same
‘Till by the Trojan he was slain.

So look around; And you shall find
No Mold to form a Hero's mind.
The trusted Cast, we’ve left behind;
Preferring to be deaf and blind.
All boundaries we thus transgress;
Towards Tartarus we do progress.
For through spoilt’ vision none can see
The figure of Tisophone;
Her blood-stained dress, some few can smell
Yet, still proceed their march to Hell.

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\"When ancient opinion and rules of life are taken away, the loss cannot possibly be estimated.\"


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