Or whispering airs instruct to find,
Soft as ye kiss the swelling rind!
Or gentle red-breast hop before!—
No; those retirements are no more.—
See the griev’d wood-dove on her flight!
And the scar’d owlet lost in light!
Hark! the same bell!—take, sister bier,[[84]]
Affection’s sigh and friendship’s tear!
These for ourselves:—for thee, blest shade!
Amply thy debt of life was paid;