Accept, O sacred shade, this artless verse,
And kindly, O ye mourning friends, forbear,
To rend disdaining from his decent herse,
All I can give except the tender tear.
He must not lie in his cold grave, among
Poor shrieking ghosts, unpraised, unwept, unsung.
Ah! where was I when fiercely-frowning Death,
With brandish'd dart stood at still midnight nigh,
Why came I not to catch his dying breath
And close with trembling hand thy languid eye?
On my sad breast to lay thy drooping head,.mw-parser-output .wst-pline{color:#2E8B57;font-size:83%}.mw-parser-output .wst-pline-default2{margin-left:1em}.mw-parser-output .wst-pline-r{float:right;text-indent:0;margin-left:1em}.mw-parser-output .wst-pline-l{float:left;text-align:right;margin-left:-3em;width:2.5em}.mw-parser-output .wst-pline-or{float:right;text-align:right;margin-right:-3em;width:2.5em}.mw-parser-output .wst-pline-n{font-style:normal}.mw-parser-output .wst-pline-i{font-style:italic}11
And bathe with tears thy hand so cold and dead?
Thee do I view in yonder flying cloud?
Or do I hear thee in the hollow wind?
Or dost thou still sleep in thy sable shroud,
Where the dread judgment-trumpet thee shall find?
O till that day ye pitying angels come,
Shield with your wings, and sing around his tomb.
But if advanced to Heaven's empyreal height.
Above with glorious martyr'd saints to live20
Midst heavenly hymns, and harps and visions bright
And all the joys a smiling God can give;
O be my watchful guardian angel still,
Save me from slavish vice, from folly, and from ill.