The scene of Death is closed! the mournful strains
Dissolve in dying languor on the ear;
Yet Pity weeps, yet Sympathy complains,
And dumb Suspense awaits o’erwhelm’d with fear:
But the sad Muses with prophetic eye
At once the future and the past explore;
Their harps Oblivion’s influence can defy,
And waft the spirit to th’ eternal shore—
Then, O Palemon! if thy shade can hear
The voice of Friendship still lament thy doom,