“The next, with dirges due in sad array,
Slow through the church-way path we saw him borne—
Approach and read (for thou canst read) the lay,
Grav’d on the stone beneath yon aged thorn.”
THE EPITAPH.
Here rests his head upon the lap of earth
A youth, to fortune and to fame unknown
Fair science frown’d not on his humble birth,
And melancholy mark’d him for her own.
Large was his bounty, and his soul sincere,