And the sad verse with gloomy numbers swell:
But ’tis not mine,—I must the task forego,
And let the gushing tear in silence flow.
Rest then, thou gentle spirit, rest in peace;
All jarring passions now for ever cease;
No more shall sickness thy soft frame invade;
And grief and pain eternally are fled,
Ere long thy friends, who now thy fate deplore,
Will follow thee and be beheld no more;
And the young hand that pays this tribute, must