how can i to the tuneful strain attend?

that strain flows round the untimely tomb where riddell lies.

yes, pour, ye warblers! pour the notes of woe,

and soothe the virtues weeping o'er his bier:

the man of worth—and hath not left his peer!

is in his “narrow house,” for ever darkly low.

thee, spring! again with joy shall others greet;

me, memory of my loss will only meet.