Elegies & laments

AN ELEGY ON THE DEATH OF

Sir Robert Peel :

DIED JULY 2nd, 1850, AGED 62.

AIR.—" Queen God bless Her."

[NLS note: a graphic appears here - see image of page]

BRITTANNIA ! Britannia ! what makes thee com-
plain,
O why so in sorrow relenting,
Old England is lost, we are borne down in pain,
And the nation in greif is lamenting,
That exc llent man—the pride of theland,
Whom every virtue possessed him,
Is gone to that Home, from whence no one returns,
Our dear friend, Sir Robert, God bless him.

The rich and the poor all did him adore,
Admired, beloved, and respected'
To his court,y's right, he struggled with might,
And nothing was by him neglected,
He nobly guided the helm of state,
The poor long has praised and blessed him,
Now tears wet each eye, while in sorrow they sigh,
He is gone, is Sir Robert, God rest him.

Sad, sad, was the day when misfortune that way.
From health, stength, and viguor had tossed him,
Upon the hard ground to receive his death wound,
Oh mourn ! mourn ! Britieunia, we've lost him,
His equal again sure we never shall find,
For every goodness possessed him,
Brittannia shall weep by the tomb where he sleeps,
The patriot, Sir Robert, God rest him.

Our Queen sighed in tears, when the tidings she heard
And her children with hearts full of sorrow,
Saying England is done, oh ! where shall we run,
To meet with his equal to morrow,
He is not to be found upon England's ground,
Already, already, we've missed him,
Britatnnia deplore, we'll behold him no more,
The Glory of England, God rest him.

Talk of Canning and P itt, for their talent and wit,
And all who upheld that high station,
Oh ! been there has ne'er such a noble Premier,
As Sir Robert, before in the nation,
He'd by no one be led, he'd by no one be said,
For no Government feared to trust him,
In every way he carried the sway,
For the good of his country, God rest him,

At sixty-two years of age, cruel death did engage,
Brittannia to move from her station,
From her councils and land, called that excellent man,
Sir Robert the pride of the nation,
Oh ! the tears that were shed, by Sir Roberts dea h bed
Some hours before life bad left him,
Caused hearts to complain in grief, sorrow, and pain,
He is gone, is Sir Robert, God rest him.

In the tomb where he sleeps, many thousands will weep
And his virtuous deeds lay be o e ye,
And he will receive in the regions of b iss,
A coronet braided with glory,
Though we part with him in pain, it's no use to com-
plain,
He is for ever gone and we've missed him,
In peace may he sleep, while Brittannia daes weep,
For her servant, Sir Robert, God bless him.

LONDON—Ryle and Co., Printers and Publishers,
2 and 3, Monbsuth Court. Bloomsbury.