O Hervey, honour'd name, forgive the tear, 
That mourns thy exit from a world like this ; 
Forgive the wish that would have kept thee here, 
Fond wish ! have kept thee from the seats of bliss. 

No more confin'd to these low scenes of night, 
Pent in a feeble tenement of clay : 
Should we not rather hail thy glorious flight, 
And trace thy journey to the realms of day. 

The blissful realms, where thy lov'd master reigns, 
Who taught thy pen its eloquence divine ; 
Whose presence now inspires to loftier strains, 
While all unveil'd his boundless glories shine. 

Now the celestial flame that warm'd thy breast, 
And through thy heav'n-taught page resplendent shone, 
Exalted, joins the transports of the blest,
In language, ev'n to thee, on earth unknown. 

Yes, we resign thee to thy Saviour God ; 
O may his love, that taught thy feet the way, 
Conduct our steps to that divine abode, 
Where his full glories beam eternal day! 

Yet its own loss must every heart deplore, 
That feels the power of Hervey's moving page, 
That wish'd, (but ah, that wish avails no more !) 
His life prolong'd to bless the rising age.

O lost to earth ! — no, in his works he lives, 
Here, shall the rising age his portrait view ; 
Here, his own pen, the mind's bright image gives,
In fairer tints than painting ever knew. 

His warm benevolence, his sacred zeal, 
O may some blest, surviving prophet find ! 
Like him who caught the mantle as it fell, 
Heir to the graces of Elijah's mind. 

While thus a stranger Muse presents the lay 
To Hervey's mem'ry due, to grace his urn 
Let friendship more distinguish'd honours pay
And teach the world, departed worth to mourn.