Of The Death Of The Right Hon. ***
Ye Muses, pour the pitying tear For Pollio snatch'd away; O! had he liv'd another year! 'He had not died to-day'. O! were he born to bless mankind, In virtuous times of yore, Heroes themselves had fallen behind! 'Whene'er he went before'. How sad the groves and plains appear, And sympathetic sheep; Even pitying hills would drop a tear! 'If hills could learn to weep'. His bounty in exalted strain Each bard might well display; Since none implor'd relief in vain! 'That went reliev'd away'. And hark! I hear the tuneful throng His obsequies forbid, He still shall live, shall live as long! 'As ever dead man did'.
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"Ye Muses, pour the pitying tear..."
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