Of import high, and light divine, to man.
The man how blest, who, sick of gaudy scenes, 310
(Scenes apt to thrust between us and ourselves!)
Is led by choice to take his favourite walk,
Beneath death’s gloomy, silent, cypress shades,
Unpierced by vanity’s fantastic ray;
To read his monuments, to weigh his dust,
Visit his vaults, and dwell among the tombs!
Lorenzo[21] read with me Narcissa’s stone;
(Narcissa was thy favourite) let us read