AR
DE OF
IM, who grac'd the mimick scene, And charm'd attention with resistless pow'r;
Whose wond'rous art, whose fascinating mien, Gave glowing rapture to the short-liv'd hour!
Accept the mournful verse, the ling'ring sigh, The tear that faithful Mem'ry stays to shed;
The
ED
AR, that from Reflection's eye, Drops on the ashes of the sainted dead.
Lov'd by the grave, and courted by the young, In social comforts eminently blest;
All hearts rever'd the precepts of thy tongue, And Envy's self thy eloquence confess'd.
Who could like thee the soul's wild tumults paint, Or wake the torpid ear with lenient art?
Touch the nice sense with pity's dulcet plaint, Or soothe the sorrows of the breaking heart?
Who can forget thy penetrating eye, The sweet bewitching smile, th' empassion'd look?
The clear deep whisper, the persuasive sigh, The feeling tear that Nature's language spoke?
Rich in each treasure bounteous Heaven could lend, For private worth distinguish'd and approv'd,
The pride of
UE's darling friend, By
LD honor'dand by
EN lov'd!
The courtier's cringe, the flatt'rer's abject smile, The subtle arts of well-dissembled praise,
Thy soul abhorr'd;above the gloss of guile, Truth lead thy steps, and Friendship crown'd thy days.
Oft in thy
ON's dark embow'ring shade The
ET's hand shall sweep the trembling string;
While the proud tribute §to thy mem'ry paid, The voice of
US on the gale shall fling.
Yes,
AN! thy soft melodious verse Still vibrates on a nation's polish'd ear;
Fondly it hover'd o'er the sable hearse, Hush'd the loud plaint, and triumph'd in a tear.
In life united by congenial minds, Dear to the
SE, to sacred friendship true;
Around her darling's urn a wreath
HE binds, A deathless wreathimmortaliz'd by
OU!
But say, dear shade, is kindred mem'ry flown? Has widow'd love at length forgot to weep?
That no kind verse, or monumental stone, Marks the lone spot where thy cold relics sleep!
Dear to a nation, grateful to thy muse, That nation's tears upon thy grave shall flow,
For who the gentle tribute can refuse, Which thy fine feeling gave to fancied woe?
Thou who, by many an anxious toilsome hour, Reap'd the bright harvest of luxuriant Fame,
Who snatch'd from dark oblivion's barb'rous pow'r The radiant glories of a
RE's name!
Rembrance oft shall paint the mournful scene Where the slow fun'ral spread its length'ning gloom,
Where the deep murmur, and dejected mien, In artless sorrow linger'd round thy tomb.
And tho' no laurel'd bust, or labour'd line, Shall bid the passing stranger stay to weep;
Thy
RE's hand shall point the hallow'd shrine, And Britain's genius with thy ashes sleep.
Then rest in peace,
O ever sacred shade! Your kindred souls exulting
ME shall join;
And the same wreath thy hand for
RE made, Gemm'd with her tears about
HY
VE
LL
NE.
