Meyer! in thy works the world will ever see
How great the loss of Art in losing thee;
But Love and Sorrow find the words too weak,
Nature’s keen sufferings on thy death to speak;
Through all her duties, what a heart was thine.
In thy cold dust what spirit used to shine;
Fancy, and truth, and gaiety, and zeal,
What most we love in life, and, losing, feel,
Age after age may not one artist yield
Equal to thee, in Painting’s ample field: