To hide the grief your oaks revive.—
Bow thy tall branches, grateful wood!
Afford me blossom, leaf, and bud!
He, for whose memory these I blend,
Thy late-lost master, was my friend!—
Fall, gentle dews! fresh zephyrs, breathe!
Spread, cooling shades! preserve my wreath!—
Alas, it withers ere its time!—
So faded he in manly prime!—
But Virtue, scorning friendship’s aid,