STANZAS

I saw him sensitive in frame,

I knew his spirits low;

And wish'd him health, success, and fame —

I do not wish it now.

For these are all their own reward,

And leave no good behind;

They try us, oftenest make us hard,

Less modest, pure, and kind.

Alas! yet to the suffering man,

In this his mortal state,

Friends could not give what fortune can —

Health, ease, a heart elate.

But he is now by fortune foil'd

No more; and we retain

The memory of a man unspoil'd,

Sweet, generous, and humane —

With all the fortunate have not,

With gentle voice and brow.

— Alive, we would have changed his lot,

We would not change it now.