The gentle trav’ler sighs when shewn,
These desolated walls.
Each gen’rous mind emotion feels,
With pious pity mov’d;
No breast its anguish yet conceals,
For one so well belov’d.
Let no unhallow’d tongue, or servile slave,
Their partial clamour vent beyond the grave;
But let the noble Dead his honours wear;
His fault deplore, his virtue still revere: