One morn I missd him on the customd hill, Along the heath, and near his favrite tree: Another came; nor yet beside the rill, Nor up the lawn, nor at the wood was he.
Here rests his head upon the lap of earth, A youth to fortune and to fame unknown: Fair Science frownd not on his humble birth, And Melancholy markd him for her own.1
Large was his bounty, and his soul sincere, Heaven did a recompense as largely send: He gave to misry (all he had) a tear, He gained from Heavn (t was all he wishd) a friend.
No further seek his merits to disclose, Or draw his frailties from their dread abode (There they alike in trembling hope repose), The bosom of his Father and his God.