Where darkness, brooding o'er unfinish'd fates
With raven wing incumbent, waits the day,
Dread day! that interdicts all future change!
That subterranean world, that land of ruin !
Fit walk, LORENZO, for proud human thought !
There let my thought expatiate ; and explore
Balsamic truths, and healing sentiments
Of all most wanted, and most welcome here.
For gay LORENZO's sake, and for thy own
My soul! " The fruits of dying friends survey;
" Expose the vain of life ; weigh life and death ;
" Give death his eulogy ; thy fear subdue ;
" And labour that first palm of noble minds—
" A manly scorn of terror from the tomb :"
This harvest reap from thy NARCISSA's grave.

As poets feign'd, from Ajax' streaming blood
Arose, with grief inscribed, a mournful flower;
Let wisdom blossom from my mortal wound.
And first, of dying friends; what fruit from these?
It brings us more than triple aid; an aid
To chase our thoughtlessness, fear, pride, and guilt.
Our dying friends come o'er us like a cloud,
To damp our brainless ardours, and abate
That glare of life which often blinds the wise:
Our dying friends are pioneers, to smooth
Our rugged pass to death; to break those bars
Of terror and abhorrence nature throws
Cross our obstructed way; and thus to make
Welcome as safe our port from every storm :
Each friend by fate snatch'd from us, is a plume