But unforgetful Grief her debt hath paid,
In sad remembrance of thy lovely shade;
And friendly hands have op’d this cell of sleep,
Thy dust to honor, and thy fall to weep,
And maiden trains from village hamlets nigh,
Have borne thy relics thence to where they lie,
There rear’d the slab that tells thy joyless doom,
Points to the skies, and shows thy hallow’d tomb.
Ne’er shall thy fate around thee fail to draw,
Hearts ever true to Nature’s kindliest law—