Robert Treat Paine (1773–1811)

Inscribed to the Memory of M. M. HAYS, Esq.

HERE sleep’st thou, Man of Soul! Thy spirit flown,

How dark and tenantless its desert clay!

Cold is that heart, which throbbed at sorrow’s moan,

Untuned that tongue that charmed the social day.

Where now the Wit, by generous roughness graced?

Or Friendship’s accent, kindling as it fell?

Or Bounty’s stealing foot, whose step untraced

Had watched pale Want, and stored her famished cell?

Alas! ’t is all thou art! whose vigorous mind

Inspiring force to Truth and Feeling gave,

Whose rich resources equal power combined,

The gay to brighten, and instruct the grave!

Farewell! Adieu! Sweet peace thy vigils keep;

For Pilgrim Virtue sojourns here to weep!