Herb ye, who love to tear Oblivion's veil
From the chill to nb, arid strew freili n\, vers around,
Where ancient sagei slumber in the ground,
Come, join with me, and liste i to the tale,
Which bids neglected W,rth n-i more bewail
Her fate obscure; and calls the lyre to sound
Notes long forgot, while, with new laurels crown'd,
Old bards their renovated lustre hail!
Hark! the grave opens; the departed seer
Weaves the gay fancies of his mind again:
breathe the soft tones once more, that drew the tear
From melting virgins in Eliza's reign!
O listen to the kre, and fan the flame,
That consecrates long-buried Worth to fame!
22 Dee. 1806.