Uniting to the loftiest spirit,
And the justest title to self-confidence,
A strict and humble obedience,

To the Sovereign rule of Discipline and Subordination.

Rising by due gradation to Command,
He infused into the bosoms of those he led,
The valorous ardour and enthusiastic zeal for
The service of his King and Country,
Which animated his own.

And while he acquired the love of all,
By the sweetness and moderation of his temper.
He inspired universal confidence,

In the never-failing resources of his capacious mind.
It will be for History to relate,
The many great exploits through which
Solicitous of peril, and regardless of wounds,
He became the glory of his Profession.

But it belongs to this brief record

Of his illustrious career, to say that he commanded
And conquered at the Battles of
The Nile and Copenhagen;
Victories never before equalled,

Yet afterwards surpassed by his own last achievement,
The Battle of Trafalgar,

Fought on the 21st day of October, 1805.

On that day before the conclusion of the Action,
He fell mortally wounded,

But the sources of life and sense failed not,
Until it was made known to him

That the destruction of the Enemy being completed,
The glory of his Country, and his own,
Had attained their summit;

Then laying his hand on his brave heart, With a look of exalted resignation to the will of the Supreme Disposer of the fate of men and nations, He expired.

The Lord Mayor, Aldermen, and Common Council of the City of London, have caused this monument to be erected, not in the presumptuous hope of sustaining the departed Hero's memory; but to manifest their estimation of the man, and their admiration of his deeds. This testimony of their gratitude they trust will remain, as long as their own renowned City shall exist.

The period to NELSON's fame can only be the end of time.

En Poplar Church and Church-Yard.

ON GEORGE STEVENS, Esq.

Who died in the 64th year of his age, 1800.

Peace to these reliques once the bright attire,
Of spirit sparkling with no common fire!
How oft has pleasure in the social hour,
Smil'd at his wit's exhilarating power!

And truth attested with delight intense,
The serious charms of his colloquial sense,
His talents varying as the diamond's ray,
Could strike the grave or fascinate the gay.

His critic labours of unwearied force,
Collected light from every distant source;
Want with such true beneficence he cheer'd,—
All that his bounty gave his zeal endear'd.

Learning as vast as mental pow'r could seize,
In sport displaying and with graceful ease;
Lightly the path of chequer'd life he trod,
Careless of chance confiding in his God!

ON

JOSEPH PINDER PORTER,

Died, 1806,

Aged 16 years.

Ah how uncertain are the days of men,
Certain to die, and yet uncertain when ;
An instance here you have before your eyes,
How soon the healthiest man's cut down and dies;
At morn I was in health, the same at noon,
But ere the night was gone my glass was run.

Lime-House Church-Yard.

ON MRS. CHARLOTTE GARBUTT,

Who died in 1812, aged 26 years.

Why start! the case is yours, or will be soon,
Some years perhaps, perhaps another moon;
Life in its utmost span is but a breath,

And those who longest sleep, must wake in death.

IN MEMORY OF

THOMAS CLARE,

Who was drowned at Seaford,

September 7th, 1809, aged 46.

How melancholy was the news,
To those I lov'd so dear;

To hear my precious life was gone,
Assistance none was near.

Forbear your tears my children dear,
My wife your grief refrain;

For tho' I'm absent from you here,
We soon shall meet again.

H

ON THOMAS JONES,

Aged 56, died, 1813.

A pale consumption gave the fatal blow,
The stroke, was certain but th' effect was slow,
With lingering pain, death saw him sore oppress'd,
Pitied his sighs and kindly gave him rest.

ON FRANCES JOHNSON,

Who died in good health without a moment's warning.

The voice of this alarming scene,

May every heart obey ;

Nor be the heav'nly warning vain,
That calls to watch and pray!

ON SUSANNAH BUCKLER,

Aged 62.

No trust in self, on firmer ground she stood,
Her hope was founded on a Saviour's blood;
A sinner sav'd who in death's trying hour,
Did cast her soul, on Jesus' love and pow'r.
And now with myriads of the ransom'd race,
Ascribes her bliss to free and sov'reign grace ;
As such her happy lot, then why complain,
My loss, tho' great, is her eternal gain.