Th’ unfeeling persecution of the proud,
With black misfortune’s sad terrific frown,
And hard neglect of the unthinking crowd.
Deserted by his friends, by all mankind,
With silent anguish long he mourn’d his fate,
With joyful hope his willing breast resign’d
In expectation of an happier state.
Around his grave the cypress wreath entwine,
The Yew Tree’s shade shall add its solemn gloom;
The tender fair to pity will incline,