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Brooks: A 'Prize' Poem
A BREWER
Here lies poor Burton,
He was both hale and stout;
Death laid him on his bitter bier,
Now in another world he hops about.
A DENTIST
Stranger ! Approach this spot with gravity!
John Brown is filling his last cavity.
A 'PRIZE' POEM
Full many a gem of purest ray serene,
That to be hated needs but to be seen,
Invites my lays; be present sylvan maids,
And graceful deer reposing in the shades.
I am the Morning and the Evening Star,
Drag the slow barge, or wheel the rapid car
While wrapped in fire the realms of ether glow,
Or private dirt in public virtue throw.
How small of all that human hearts endure
The short and simple annals of the poor!
I would commend their bodies to the rack;
At least we'll die with harness on our back!
Remote, unfriended, melancholy, slow,
Virtue alone is happiness below!
As vipers sting, though dead, by some review;
And now thou seest my soul's angelic hue.
SHIRLEY BROOKS
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