Oh! were he born to bless mankind,
In virtuous times of yore,
Heroes themselves had fall’n behind—
Whene’er he went before.
How sad the groves and plains appear,
And sympathetic sheep;
Even pitying hills would drop a tear—
If hills could learn to weep.
His bounty in exalted strain
Each bard might well display,
Since none implor’d relief in vain—
That went reliev’d away.
And, hark! I hear the tuneful throng
His obsequies forbid;
He still shall live, shall live as long—
As ever dead man did.
FOOTNOTES:
[60] A burlesque elegy.
