"Hail, ye midnight sisters, hail, ` "O'er the glory of the land, "O'er the innocent and gay, "Weave the fun'ral web of Gray." 'Tis done, 'tis done-the iron hand of pain, Thus fades the flow'r nipp'd by the frozen gale, Ye sacred sisters of the plaintive verse, Now let the stream of fond affection flow; O pay your tribute o'er the slow-drawn hearse, With all the manly dignity of woe. Oft when the Curfew tolls its parting knell With solemn pause yon Church-yard's gloom survey, While Sorrow's sighs and tears of Pity tell O'er his green grave, in Contemplation's guise, [75] Elegy in a Country Church-Yard. EPITAPH ON MR. GRAY's MONUMENT, IN WESTMINSTER ABBEY. BY MR. MASON. No more the Grecian Muse unrivall'd reigns, To Britain let the nations homage pay! She boasts a Homer's fire in Milton's strains, C. WHITTINGHAM, Printer, # |