V

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.

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