Mute is each lyre, their silent strings are bound
With willow, yew, and cypress wreath'd around.
Their hopes, joys, sorrows, rest within the grave
Admiring nations to their relics gave.
Hail, mighty shades! bright spirits of the past;
Here may your ashes sleep while time shall last.
Let kindred genius shed the pensive tear,
And grace with votive elegy each bier.
While far beyond this melancholy vale,
When faded sorrow tells her mournful tale,