From whose remains the virgin lily springs,
Emblem of her who envy’s pow’r disarm’d,
While round her turf the mournful robin sings.
Chaunt your sweet vespers through the ambient air,
Ye wild companions of the tufted grove;
Sing how your Polly once was heavenly fair,
Form’d of compassion, tenderness and love.
Yet what avails the muse’s plaintive song,
Can she to life these loved remains restore,
These mouldering relics to the earth belong,