An elegy in five anapestic quatrains, without signature, presented in the Columbian Herald (Charleston) as "selected poetry." The archery conceit developed in this poem is a novelty: "No more shall we see him in vesture of green, | With his quiver brim-ful at his side; | Of his party, each archer was proud to be seen, | For he of the crew was the pride."
Beneath this rais'd turf our lov'd Corydon lies,
The joy and support of the plain,
And we cry, whilst the tears stream apace from our eyes,
"His like we shall never see again."
With truth, love, and honor, his bosom was stor'd,
And with sense he was blest, 'yond compare;
Sincere hospitality smil'd at his board,
And gave double zest to his fare.
First, virtue's pure dictates he strictly obey'd,
Then cultur'd each grace of his mind;
To science and learning his due homage paid,
And the arts were not far left behind.
No more shall we see him in vesture of green,
With his quiver brim-ful at his side;
Of his party, each archer was proud to be seen,
For he of the crew was the pride.
Come then, hapless bowmen, and nymphs of the string,
And moisten with tears the green sod;
For his soul (like his arrow) is straight on the wing,
To gain the blest meed from his God.