Accept, lov'd shade! of him whose breathless clay
No sigh returns to aught that grief can say;
Accept, lov'd shade! this monument of woe:
The last sad gift thy friend can now bestow!
For him, alas! 'tis left raise the tomb;
Steal from the crowd of court sepulchral gloom;
Clasp to his heart thy cold untimely urn,
And weep thy virtues - never to return!
Nor can the muse (that muse thou lov'dst to hear)
Repress the sigh, or check the starting tear;
From Britain's shore; across the Atlantic wave,
She comes, to vent her sorrows at thy grave;
With trembling hand inscribe thy funeral stone,
And with a brother's woes record her own.