Tho' blameless, had incur'd perpetual strife,
Whose deeds had left, in spite of hostile arts,
A deep memorial graven on their hearts.
The recollection, like a vein of ore,
The further trac'd, enrich'd them still the more;
They thought him, and they justly thought him, one
Sent to do more than he appear'd t' have done
T' exalt a people, and to place them high
Above all else, and wonder'd he should die,
Ere yet they brought their journey to an end,