This pleasing anxious Being e’er resign’d,
Left the warm Precincts of the chearful Day,
Nor cast one longing ling’ring Look behind!
23On some fond Breast the parting Soul relies,
Some pious Drops the closing Eye requires;
Ev’n from the Tomb the Voice of Nature cries
Ev’n in our Ashes live their wonted Fires.
24For thee, who mindful of th’ unhonour’d Dead,
Dost in these Lines their artless Tale relate;
If chance, by lonely Contemplation led,