YE Lime-trees, ranged before this hallowed Urn, Shoot forth with lively power at Spring's return; And be not slow a stately growth to rear Of pillars, branching off from year to year, Till they have learned to frame a darksome aisle;-- That may recall to mind that awful Pile Where Reynolds, 'mid our country's noblest dead, In the last sanctity of fame is laid. --There, though by right the excelling Painter sleep Where Death and Glory a joint sabbath keep, 10 Yet not the less his Spirit would hold dear Self-hidden praise, and Friendship's private tear: Hence, on my patrimonial grounds, have I Raised this frail tribute to his memory; From youth a zealous follower of the Art That he professed; attached to him in heart; Admiring, loving, and with grief and pride Feeling what England lost when Reynolds died. 1808.