Although Time's heavy hand thy form may bow,
And leaving Earth's low cares, be fix'd on high
Thy graver thought, youth's every energy
Forgets not in thy boundless heart to glow:
Those orbs that Heaven's gay light no longer know,
Nor meet with kindred beam affection's eye,
(Long, long denied each grateful ministry),
Still own the tear that flows for others' woe;
Nor flows o'er sad reality alone:
Ev'n for the fabled ill the Muse portrays
The sacred drop upon thy cheek has shone.
Be thine the lay so graced, and so endeared!
Thou, as the sainted author of my days,
Alike from earliest years beloved, revered!

Hampton Court Palace, January 27th
, 1812.