Less solemn than the service for the dead. 60
Mine is inferior matter,—my own loss,—
The loss of dear delights for ever fled,
Of reason’s converse by affection fed,
Of wisdom, counsel, solace, that across
Life’s dreariest tracts a tender radiance shed. 65
Friend of my youth! though younger, yet my guide,
How much by thy unerring insight clear
I shaped my way of life for many a year!
What thoughtful friendship on thy deathbed died!