1808-182 2.] 
WHATELY'S “EPITAPH." 
4i 
planted yellow banksia roses in memory of his friend, 
who had been for forty-one years President of the Royal 
Society. 
Buckland was greatly pleased, on his return from this 
long sojourn on the Continent, to be greeted with the 
following epitaph written by his friend Whately, afterwards 
the famous Archbishop of Dublin. He had the verses 
lithographed, and gave copies to his friends, so that they 
are more known than many of the clever verses written by 
Dr. Shuttleworth and Mr. Duncan. 
ELEGY 
Intended for Professor Buckland. December 1 st, 1820. 
By Richard Whately. 
“ Mourn, Ammonites, mourn o’er his funeral urn, 
Whose neck ye must grace no more ; 
Gneiss, granite, and slate, he settled your date, 
And his ye must now deplore. 
Weep, caverns, weep with unfiltering drip, 
Your recesses he’ll cease to explore ; 
For mineral veins and organic remains 
No stratum again will he bore. 
“Oh, his wit shone like crystal; his knowledge profound 
From gravel to granite descended, 
No trap could deceive him, no slip could confound, 
Nor specimen, true or pretended ; 
He knew the birth-rock of each pebble so round, 
And how far its tour had extended. 
u His eloquence rolled like the Deluge retiring, 
Where mastodon carcases floated; 
To a subject obscure he gave charms so inspiring, 
Young and old 011 geology doated. 
He stood out like an Outlier ; his hearers, admiring, 
In pencil each anecdote noted. 
