116
Epistles.
How silent did his old companions tread
By midnight lamps the mansions of the dead,
Thro' breathing statues, then unheeded things,
Thro' rows of warriours and thro' walks of kings!
What awe did the slow solemn knell inspire, 15
The pealing organ and the pausing choir,
The duties by the lawn-rob'd prelate paid,
And the last words that dust to dust convey'd!
While speechless o'er thy closing grave we bend,
Accept these tears thou dear departed friend! 20
Oh, gone for ever! take this long adieu,
And sleep in peace next thy lov'd Montague.
To strew fresh laurels let the task be mine,
A frequent pilgrim at thy sacred shrine;
Mine with true sighs thy absence to bemoan, 25
And grave with faithful epitaphs thy stone.
If e'er from me thy lov'd memorial part
May shame afflict this alienated heart!
Of thee forgetful if I form a song
My lyre be broken and untun'd my tongue, 30
My grief be doubled from thy image free,
And mirth a torment unchastis'd by thee!
Oft' let me range the gloomy aisles alone,
Sad luxury! to vulgar minds unknown,
Along the walls where speaking marbles show 35
What worthies form the hallow'd mould below:
Proud names! who once the reins of empire held,
In arms who triumph'd or in arts excell'd,
By midnight lamps the mansions of the dead,
Thro' breathing statues, then unheeded things,
Thro' rows of warriours and thro' walks of kings!
What awe did the slow solemn knell inspire, 15
The pealing organ and the pausing choir,
The duties by the lawn-rob'd prelate paid,
And the last words that dust to dust convey'd!
While speechless o'er thy closing grave we bend,
Accept these tears thou dear departed friend! 20
Oh, gone for ever! take this long adieu,
And sleep in peace next thy lov'd Montague.
To strew fresh laurels let the task be mine,
A frequent pilgrim at thy sacred shrine;
Mine with true sighs thy absence to bemoan, 25
And grave with faithful epitaphs thy stone.
If e'er from me thy lov'd memorial part
May shame afflict this alienated heart!
Of thee forgetful if I form a song
My lyre be broken and untun'd my tongue, 30
My grief be doubled from thy image free,
And mirth a torment unchastis'd by thee!
Oft' let me range the gloomy aisles alone,
Sad luxury! to vulgar minds unknown,
Along the walls where speaking marbles show 35
What worthies form the hallow'd mould below:
Proud names! who once the reins of empire held,
In arms who triumph'd or in arts excell'd,
