XCI.

"And thou, my friend!--since unavailing woe Bursts from my heart, and mingles with the strain-- Had the sword laid thee with the mighty low, Pride might forbid e'en Friendship to complain: But thus unlaurell'd to descend in vain, By all forgotten, save the lonely breast, And mix unbleeding with the boasted slain, While Glory crowns so many a meaner crest! What hadst thou done, to sink so peacefully to rest?