In graceful wreaths entwine their rustic bloom, That bloom which shames the garden's richest dyes, And hang these votive garlands round the tomb, Where nature's painter, nature's fav'rite lies.

Few artists claim the muse's sacred lyre;
The slaves of luxury shun her piercing eye:
Those insects sport 'round fashion's meteor fire,
Flutter their moment, and neglected die.

The meaner tool of faction or of spite,
Whose pencil feeds vile slander's greedy lust,
Is scarcely shelter'd by oblivion's night,
And just resentment spurns his guilty dust.

But when true genius feels the stroke of time,
When fate arrests him in his bright career,
Britannia, bending from her seat sublime,
Vouchsafes the tribute of a pitying tear.

On the Death

OF

LIONEL ROBERT TOLLEMACHE, Esq.

Of the 1st Regt. of Foot Guards.

Lionel Robert Tollemache was the only son of the Hon. John Tollemache, the fifth son of Lionel 2nd Earl of Dysart, by Lady Bridget Henley, the daughter of Robert 1st Earl of Northington, and the relict of the Hon. George Lane Fox, only son of Lord Bingley.

He was born November the 10th, 1774, and embracing early the military profession, obtained an Ensign's commission in the 1st regiment of Foot Guards, January the 28th, 1791. Accompanying his regiment to Flanders, on the breaking out of the war with France, he was killed, by the bursting of a shell, in the third parallel before Valenciennes, July the 14th, 1793, in an assault made previously to the surrender of that town.

He was active, diligent, and scientific in his military duties; possessed agreeable manners; spoke the German and French languages with much fluency; and was universally respected as a young man of great promise and attainments. He seems

to have had a presentiment of his fate, as a copy of verses was found in his pocket after his death, expressive of the uncertainty of a soldier's life," one "night in all the paraphernalia of dress, the next "in a winding-sheet." His remains were brought over from Flanders, and interred in the familyvault at Helmingham; where, on a beautifully executed monument from the chisel of Nollekens, adorned with a bust in a medallion, and military trophies, is the following elegant and pathetic inscription in small capitals, and in two compartments:

This Monument was erected to the Memory
Of LIONEL ROBERT TOLLEMACHE, ESQRE.
Who lies buried in the vault beneath.
He was the only Son of the Honorable
Captain John Tollemache, of the Royal Navy,
And Lady Bridget Henley, Daughter of
The Earl of Northington.

His course was short, but it was brilliant!
For at the age of eighteen he died nobly,
Fighting for his King and Country.
He was an Ensign in the First Regiment
Of Foot Guards; and was killed at the
Siege of Valenciennes, in July, 1793; by
The bursting of a bomb, thrown from
The Garrison.

His death was the more unfortunate,
As he was the only British Officer killed
On that occasion.

He was a loss to his Country, for
He was a youth of uncommon promise; but
To his family his loss was irreparable!
For by that fatal event it became extinct in
The male line. But the name of Tollemache
Has been unfortunate!

The Father and two Uncles of this
Valiant youth, like himself lost their lives
Prematurely, in the service of their Country.
His Uncle the Honble. George Tollemache
Was killed by falling from the mast-head
Of the Modeste man-of-war, at sea:
His Father the Honble. John Tollemache
Was killed in a duel at New-York;
And another of his Uncles, the Honble.
William Tollemache, was lost in the Repulse
Frigate; in a hurricane in the Atlantic Ocean.
So many instances of disaster are rarely
To be met with in the same family!

Thus fell the young, the worthy, and the brave!
With emulation view his honor'd grave.

Lieut. Gen. the Hon. Thomas Tollemache, his great uncle, who lived in the reign of William the III, and was the first Colonel of the 2nd or Coldstream regiment of Foot Guards, by whom it was raised, lost his life in the service of his country, at

the siege of Brest, in June, 1694. The brother of the General, the Hon. William T. a Captain in the navy, was killed in the West Indies. The unfortunate death of the Father of the Ensign, September 25th, 1777, will be in the remembrance of all. He was commander of the Scorpion Frigate, at the commencement of the American war, and carried out among others Lieut. Col. Pennington, of the Guards. On their landing at New York, they immediately repaired to a tavern, to decide a difference which had occurred during the voyage. After firing a brace of pistols each, without effect, they drew their swords. Capt. T. was run through the heart, and Col. P. received seven wounds so severe that for some time his life was despaired of. Two of his brothers likewise perished at sea, viz. George, who was killed by falling from the masthead of the Modeste, October, 1760, and William, a Captain in the navy, who was cast away in the Repulse, December 16th, 1776.

Ensign Lionel Robert Tollemache was the heir apparent to the Scotch Earldom of Dysart, and the family honors of Tollemache, Talmach, Tallemache or Toedmeg, as it is spelt in Doomsday-Book; a family more ancient than the Norman Conquest, and which has continued, in an uninterrupted male succession, in this County, from the arrival of the Saxons to the present time. They were possessed of lands at Bentley, before the Conquest, where, till very lately, was to be seen in the old manorhouse this inscription:

When William the Conqueror reigned with great fame
Bentley was my seat and Tollemache was my name.

But Lionel T. having married in the reign of Henry VII, the Heiress of the Helminghams, of Helmingham, acquired that inheritance, which is now the residence of this ancient and noble family.

FAREWELL, aspiring Youth! thy race is o'er, Nor ever wilt thou serve bright glory more; Torn from her power, and planted in the skies, Yet at thy loss a generous tear must rise; For thee, her fav'rite child, she rear'd with care, And smiling view'd a youth both brave and fair! For thee, a mournful tear must e'er prevail, And veteran soldiers, wondering, tell thy tale. Lost to the world! let grief her tribute pay, And in her book record thy fatal day; Then shall thy name thy brave forefathers join, And add a lustre to their deeds sublime. Intomb'd in death's dark mansion by thy sire, His spirit shall partake the sacred fire; Welcome his son e'en in that drear abode, Joy at thy fall, as his dear country's good; Breathe his kind blessing, in the court of heaven, And praise his God for such an hero given. Hence, ye weak timid sons of Britain, know That death is glory from old Albion's foe; Let emulation bright possess each heart, And strive to act this youthful warrior's part. Each night thy tomb the village maids shall crown, With rustic trophies; and the dirge shall drown The sigh of fond regret, that wounds the breast, Whilst thou in shades of peace shalt gently rest.