Nor up the lawn, nor at the wood was he;
‘The next with dirges due in sad array,
Slow through the churchway path we saw him borne:
Approach and read (for thou canst read) the lay, 115
Graved on the stone beneath yon aged thorn.’
THE EPITAPH.
Here rests his head upon the lap of Earth
A Youth, to Fortune and to Fame unknown:
Fair Science frowned not on his humble birth,
And Melancholy marked him for her own. 120