Such the last strains by thee were tried,
Strains that to holy Choirs belong;
While Age, that wasted all beside,
Yet spared the sweetness of thy song.
So pass’d he: nor approved alone
In science; like his gentle art,
His life was Music, and in tone
With Virtue’s harmony his heart.
O! let thy tuneful Spirit, to hear
The melancholy strains we raise,