Thy tender melancholy tell?
Whoe’er thou be, thy sad remains
Shall from the Muse a tear demand,
Who, wandering on these distant plains.
Looks fondly to a distant land.
Gallaudet.
Sir Moses Montefiore.
And thou hast walked about, how strange a story,
In Europe’s streets, a century nigh ago:
Long time ere Nap the First had gained his glory,