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For who, to dumb Forgetfulness a prey,
This pleasing, anxious being e'er resign'd;
Left the warm precincts of the cheerful day,
Nor cast one longing, lingering look behind ?
E'en from the tomb the voice of Nature cries;
E'en in vur ashes live their wonted fires.
* * * *
For thee, who, mindful of th' unhonour'd dead,
Dost in these lines their artless tale relate;
If 'chance, by lonely Contemplation led,
Some kindred spirit shall inquire thy fate ;