Silent and fad I walk about all day, Alas! my treafure's gone, why do I stay? IV. He was my friend, the truest friend on earth; 25 A ftrong and mighty influence join'd our birth: Nor did we envy the most founding name By Friendship giv'n of old to Fame. None but his brethren he, and fifters, knew,. And ev'n in that we did agree, For much above myself I lov'd them too. V. Say, for you faw us, ye Immortal Lights!. Wonder'd at us from above? We spent them not in toys, in lufts, or wine, Wit, eloquence, and poetry; .. 30 35 39 Arts which I lov'd, for they, my Friend! were thine. VI. Ye Fields of Cambridge! our dear Cambridge! fay, Have ye not feen us walking ev'ry day? Was there a tree about which did not know Henceforth, ye gentle Trees! for ever fade, Dark as the grave wherein my friend is laid. 45 Henceforth no learned youths beneath you fing, No whistling winds thro' the glad branches fly, Mute and unmoved be, Mute as the grave wherein my friend does lie. VIN. To him my Muse made hafte with ev'ry train, Whilst it was new, and warm yet from the brain. He lov'd my worthless rhymes, and, like a friend, Would find out fomething to commend. 55 Hence, now, my Mufe! thou canst not me delight; Be this my latest verse, With which I now adorn his hearse, And this my grief, without thy help, fhall write. IX. Had I a wreath of bays about my brow, I fhould contemn that flour'shing honour now, It rage and crackle there. 60 65 Instead of bays, crown with fad cypress me; Not Phoebus griev'd so much as I For him, who firft was made that mournful tree. X. Large was his foul; as large a foul as e'er Submitted to inform a body here: High as the place 'twas shortly' in heav'n to have, 75 But low and humble as his grave: So high, that all the Virtues there did come Confpicuous and great; So low, that for me, too, it made a room. XI. He fcorn'd this bufy world below, and all 80 85 He, like the stars, to which he now is gone, Yet burn not with the fame, Had all the light of youth, of the fire none. XII. Knowledge he only fought, and fo foon caught, In fuch a fhort mortality. Whene'er the skilful youth discours'd or writ, Still did the notions throng 90 About his el'quent tongue, 95 Nor could his ink flow fafter than his wit. XIII. So strong a wit did Nature to him frame, O had he liv'd in Learning's world, what bound His overpow'ring foul?. We'ave loft in him arts that not yet are found. XIV. His mirth was the pure fp'rits of various wit, For the rich help of books he always took, Was fo with notions written o'er, As if wife Nature had made that her book. XV. So many virtues join'd in him, as we Can scarce pick here and there in history: More than old writers' practice e'er could reach, 115 As much as they could ever teach. Thefe did Religion, Queen of virtues, fway, And all their facred motions fteer, Just like the first and highest sphere, Which wheels about, and turns all heav'n one way.120 XVI. With as much zeal, devotion, piety, He always liv'd, as other faints do die. 130 Wondrous young Man! why wert thou made fo good, Nor could thy friends take their laft fad farewell, Maliciously seiz'd on that breath Where life, fp'rit, pleasure, always us'd to dwell. XVIII. But happy thou, ta'en from this frantic age! There 'mong the bless'd thou doft for ever shine, Upon that white and radiant crew, 135 140 See'ft not a foul cloath'd with more light than thine |