Most musical of mourners, weep anew!
Not all to that bright station dar’d to climb;
And happier they their happiness who knew,
Whose tapers yet burn through that night of time
In which suns perish’d; others more sublime,
Struck by the envious wrath of man or god, Have sun, extinct in their refulgent prime;
And some yet live, treading the thorny road,
Which leads, through toil and hate, to Fame’s serene abode.