And wake each passion with a Muse of Fire.
Revere his genius—to the dead be just,
And spare the laurels, that o’ershade the dust.
Low sleeps the bard, in cold obstruction laid,
Nor asks the chaplet from a rival’s head.
O’er the dear vault, Ambition’s utmost bound,
Unheard shall Fame her airy trumpet sound!
Unheard alike, nor grief nor transport raise,
Thy blast of censure, or thy note of praise!
As Raphael’s own creation grac’d his hearse,