IV.
In high devotion wrapt, the mitred sage,
With energy sublime, the rites began;
While tears from every sex, and every age,
Bewail'd the prince, the father, and the man.
"Who, when our sov'reign liege to fate shall yield,
"Shall prop, like him, Britannia's falling state?
"Who now the vengeful sword of justice wield,
"Or ope, like him, sweet Mercy's golden gate?
VI.
"Who shall to Arts their pristine honours bring,
"Rear from the dust fair Learning's laurell'd head,
"Or bid rich commerce plume her daring wing?
"Arts, Learning, Commerce are in frederic dead.
VII.
"Who now shall tend, with fond, paternal care,
"The future guardians of our faith and laws?
"Who teach their breasts with patriot worth to dare,
"And die with ardour, in Britannia's cause?
VIII.
"And who, ah! who, with soft endearing lore,
"Shall sooth, like him, the royal mourner's breast?
"Her lord, her life, her frederic is no more."—
Deep groans and bitter wailings speak the rest.