EPILOGUE.

357

Meanwhile (although, perhaps, 'twill tire your pa-tienceTo wait while I recount my operations)I hope to give you ample satisfaction,That from the purest source sprang every action ;And that, to none allied of flesh and blood,No motive sway'd me but the common good:—This is a merit I can fairly claim—" Pro bono publico" was e'er my aim,The basis upon which I rest my fame!

THE POET.

Although I quench'd the sacred flame

That glow'd within his breast,The Bard obtain'd a deathless fame—

A haven, too, of rest:The laurels of poetic praise

Which now adorn his tomb,Had, but for me, been blighted bays,

To wither—not to bloom.