Â鶹Éç

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No sculptur'd marble here, nor pompous lay, 'No story'd urn nor animated bust;' This simple stone directs pale Scotia's way To pour her sorrows o'er her Poet's dust. [She mourns, sweet, tuneful youth, thy hapless fate, Tho' all the pow'rs of song thy fancy fir'd; Yet Luxury and Wealth lay by in state, And thankless starv'd what they so much admir'd. This humble tribute with a tear he gives, A brother Bard, he can no more bestow; But dear to fame thy Song immortal lives, A nobler monument than Art can show.]