My trembling lyre let me touch thy string!

And in a humble, but a heartfelt strain

Of him, the much-lov'd child of Genius sing;

And place this simple, unaffected verse,

With moisten'd eye upon his plumed hearse:—

"If all that virtue, all that fame holds dear,

Deserve a tribute—stop and pay it here!"

J.E.S.


THE SKETCH BOOK.
No. XLV.