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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 ?

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E'en from the tomb the voice of Nature cries;

E'en in vur ashes live their wonted fires.

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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 ;

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