TRIBUTARY VERSES. 



EXTRACT FROM ENGLISH BARDS AND SCOTTISH 

 REVIEWERS. 



BY LOKD BYRON. 



Unhappy White ! * while life was in its spring, 



And thy young muse just waved her joyous wiug, 



The spoiler came ; and all thy promise fair 



Has sought the grave, to sleep for ever there. 



Oh ! what a noble heart was here undone, 



When Science' self destroyed her favourite son ! 



Yes ! she too much indulged thy fond pursuit : 



She sowed the seeds, but Death has reaped the fruit. 



'Twas thine own Genius gave the final blow. 



And helped to plant the wound that laid thee low : 



So the struck eagle, stretch'd upon the plain. 



No more through rolling clouds to soar again, 



Viewed his own feather on the fatal dart, 



And wing"d the shaft that quivered in his heart : 



Keen were his pangs, but keener far to feel 



He nursed the pinion which impell'd the steel. 



While the same plumage that had warm'd his nest. 



Drank the last life-drop of his bleediug breast. 



* Henry Kirke White died at Cambridge, in October 1806, in con- 

 sequence of too much exertion in the pursuit of studies tiiat would 

 have matured a mind which disease and poverty could not impair 

 and which death itself destroyed rather than subdued. His poems 

 abound in such beauties as must impress the reader with the liveliest 

 regret, that so short a period was allotted to talents which would 

 aave dignified even the sacred functions he was destined to assume» 



