FRAGMENT. (Mary) Matilda Betham Alexander Huber Editor Bodleian Libraries, University of Oxford
Broad Street Oxford OX1 3BG UK
Eighteenth-Century Poetry Archive
Taylor Institution Library St Giles' Oxford OX1 3NA UK info@eighteenthcenturypoetry.org https://www.eighteenthcenturypoetry.org/
Oxford This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 3.0 Unported License. T143264 Betham, Mary Matilda, 1776-1852. Elegies and Other Small Poems, by Matilda Betham. Ipswich Printed by W. Burrell, and sold by Longman, Paternoster-Row, and Jermyn and Forster, Ipswich 1797 pp. [123]-124.

This e-text is part of the Works section of the Eighteenth-Century Poetry Archive (ECPA).

XML created for the Eighteenth-Century Poetry Archive (ECPA).

Typography, spelling, capitalization, and punctuation have been cautiously modernized. The source of the text is given and all significant editorial interventions have been recorded in textual notes. This text has been edited to conform to the recommendations found in Level 5 of the Best Practices for TEI in Libraries version 4.0.0.

Library of Congress Name Authority File (LCNAF) text-indent: 1em; margin-bottom: 1em; text-align: center; text-align: right; text-align: left; display: inline font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;
FRAGMENT . WHERE yonder mossy ruins lie , And desolation strikes the eye , A noble mansion , high and fair , Once rear'd its turrets in the air . There infant warriors drew their breath , And learn'd to scorn the fear of death . In halls where martial trophies hung , They listen'd while the minstrels sung , Of pain and glory , toil and care , And all the horrid charms of war : There caught the fond desire of fame , And punted for a hero's name . Alas ! too oft in youthful bloom , Renown has crown'd the early tomb , Has pierc'd the widow's bosom deep , And taught the mother's eyes to weep . She , on whose tale the stripling hung , While pride and sorrow rul'd her tongue . His father's gallant acts to tell , How bold he fought , how bravely fell . Methinks e'en now I hear her speak , I see the tear upon her cheek ; The musing boy's abstracted brow , And the high-arching eye below . The stifled sigh and anxious heave , The kindling heart which dares not grieve ; The finely-elevated head , The hand upon the bosom spread , Proclaim him wrought by potent charms , And speak his very soul in arms . Incautious zeal ! what hast thou done ? The tale has robb'd thee of thy son . And while thy pious tears deplore , The loss of him who lives no more , Ambition wakes her restless fire , The boy will emulate his sire ,