If dumb too long, the drooping muse hath stay'd And left her debt to Addison unpaid, Blame not her silence, Warwick, but bemoan, And judge, oh judge, my bosom by your own. What mourner ever felt poetic fires! Slow comes the verse that real woe inspires: Grief unaffected suits but ill with art, Or flowing numbers with a bleeding heart. Can I forget the dismal night that gave My soul's best part for ever to the grave! How silent did his old companions tread By midnight lamps, the mansions of the dead Through breathing statues, then unheeded things, Through rows of warriors, and through walks of kings! What awe did the slow solemn knell inspire; The pealing organ, and the pausing choir; The duties by the lawn-rob'd prelate paid; And the last words, that dust to dust convey'd! While speechless o'er thy closing grave we bend, Accept these tears, thou dear departed friend. Oh gone for ever! take this long adieu; And sleep in peace, next thy lov'd Montague. To strew fresh laurels, let the task be mine, A frequent pilgrim, at thy sacred shrine; Mine with true sighs thy absence to bemoan, And grave with faithful epitaphs thy stone. If e'er from me thy lov'd memorial part, May shame afflict this alienated heart; Of thee forgetful if I form a song, My lyre be broken, and untun'd my tongue. My grief be doubled from thy image free, And mirth a torment, unchastis'd by thee. Oft let me range the gloomy aisles alone, Sad luxury! to vulgar minds unknown, Along the walls, where speaking marbles show What worthies form the hallow'd mould below; Proud names who once the reins of empire held; In arms who triumphed; or in arts excelled; Chiefs graced with scars and prodigal of blood; Stern patriots who for sacred freedom stood; Just men, by whom impartial laws were given; And saints who taught and led the way to heaven; Ne'er to these chambers, where the mighty rest Since their foundation came a nobler guest; Nor e'er was to the bowers of bliss convey'd A fairer spirit or more welcome shade. In what new region to the just assigned, What new employments please th' unbody'd mind; A wingèd virtue, through th' ethereal sky From world to world unweary'd does he fly? Or curious trace the long laborious maze Of heaven's decrees where wondering angels gaze; Does he delight to hear bold seraphs tell How Michael battl'd and the dragon fell, Or mixed with milder cherubim to glow In hymns of love not ill-essay'd below? Or dost thou warn poor mortals left behind A task well suited to thy gentle mind? Oh! if sometimes thy spotless form descend To me thy aid, thou guardian genius lend When rage misguides me or when fear alarms, When pain distresses or when pleasure charms, In silent whisperings purer thoughts impart,