The George Beattie Project - A Poet Lost in Time

~ IN MEMORIAM ~





Down where the trailing mist-cloud weeps,
And ever moans the restless sea
By the lone graveyard mournfully,
Beneath the cliffs George Beattie sleeps.

Here, where alone the curlew screams,
Or circling daw gives harsher note:
Sole living things about the spot;
He sleeps the sleep that knows not dreams.

Surely no fitter resting place
Exists for him whose spirit, wrung
By cruellest wrong, was madly stung
To break the tie of human race.

O potent charm for human woes,
Soul-soothing death, thou seemed so fair
To him, who, racked with wild despair,
Sought peace with thee, and deep repose!

O sorely-tried, we blame thee not;
Thy faults were more of blood than will,
Thy thoughts were thoughts of those who fill
With good the high or lowly lot.

Still, in this thought I find relief,
That hadst thou known the firmer faith
From which the future draws its breath,
Thou might’st have triumphed o’er thy grief.

But this at least we must concede:
No specious formalist wert thou,
Observer of unholy vow,
Or blind slave of a narrow creed.

The hand that serves a brother’s needs,
The generous heart, the tender ear,
The starting sympathetic tear
Were thine,  the soul of all the creeds.

And while I hold not all is best,
I feel, I trust that there are still
Great compensations for all ill
In God’s eternal rest.

Sleep on, of silence now a part;
No voice of love or friendship born
Can yield again to thee the scorn
Of broken vow or severed heart.

No lust of gold can interpose,
No cruel relentless art can vex,
No shallow mind can e’er perplex
The silence of thy deep repose.

The murmur breaks along the shore,
From dawn to eve the shadows creep,
The changing seasons ceaseless sweep,
But thou dost rest for ever more.

And haunted by thy memory,
These scenes the senses so benumb,
That sky and sea and cliffs become
Incorporate, and a part of thee.

O lonely place beside the sea!
O tombs so hoary and so grey!
O memory of a vanished day,
I would I were at rest with thee!

                                                     ~  A.H. 

Dundee, 9th September 1874 .




GRAVE OF MS. GIBSON (SMART)



HOW THE INSCRIPTION SHOULD HAVE READ





In the Old Nether Church Yard of St Cyrus on the very spot where George Beattie terminated his existence in this world, a monument is erected on Wednesday the 29th of September in 1824, with the following inscription from the pen of his friend, James Burness, Esquire  :-





TO THE MEMORY
OF
 GEORGE BEATTIE
Writer in Montrose
Who died 29th September 1823, in the thirty-eighth year of his age.
THIS MONUMENT WAS ERECTED
BY THE FRIENDS WHO LOVED HIM IN LIFE AND LAMENTED HIM IN DEATH
_________________________

IN HIS DISPOSITION
HE WAS
JUST, CHARITABLE AND BENEVOLENT;
IN HIS PRINCIPLES,
FIRM AND INDEPENDENT;
IN HIS GENIUS,
FORCIBLE AND PATHETIC
AND
IN HIS MANNERS,
PLAIN AND SOCIAL.
HIS VIRTUES ARE DEEPLY ENGRAVED
in the hearts of those who know him and
his Literary Productions will be admired
while taste for original humour and vigorous expression remain.


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“Goodnight sweet Prince …”







…  and so it goes.









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