TRIBUTARY VERSES. 41 7 



WRITTEN IN THE HOMER OF MR H. KIRKE WHITE. 

 Presented to me by his Brother J. NeviUe White, 

 I. 

 Bard of brief days, but ab, of deathless fame ! 

 While on these awful leaves my fond eyes rest, 

 On which thine late have dwelt, thy hand late prest, 

 I pause ; and gaze regretful on thy name. 

 By neither chance, nor envy, time, nor flame, 

 Be from this its mansion dispossest ! 

 But thee Eternity clasps to her breast, 

 And in celestial splendour thrones thy claim. 



IT. 



No more with mortal pencil shalt thou trace 



An imitative radiance :* thy pure lyre 

 Springs from our changeful atmosphere's embrace, 



And beams and breathes in empyreal fire : 

 The Homeric and Miltonian sacred tone 

 Responsive hail that lyre congenial to their own. 



C. LOFFT. 

 Bury, 11 til Jan. 1S07. 



LINES 



On tiie Death oj Mr Henry Kirke White, late of St John's 

 College, Cambridge. 



■WTIITTEN ABOUT AND IN THAT COLLEGE. 



Sorrows are mine — then let me joys evade, 

 And seek for sympathies in this lone shade. 

 The glooms of death fall heavy on my heart. 

 And, between life and me, a truce impart. 

 Genius has vanish 'd in its opening bloom. 

 And youth and beauty wither in the tomb ! 



Thought, i?ver prompt to lend th' inquiring eye. 

 Pursues thy spirit through futurity. 

 Does thy aspiring mind new powers essay. 

 Or in suspended being wait the day, 

 WTien earth shall fall before the awful train 

 Of Heaven and Virtue's everlasting reign ? 



* Allading to a pencilled sketch of his, of a bead surrounded with i 

 glory. 



2d 



