What tho' no sculptur'd monument proclaim

    Thy fate-yet Albert in my breast I bear

  Inshrin'd the sad remembrance; yet thy name

    Will fill my throbbing bosom. When DESPAIR

  The child of murdered HOPE, fed on thy heart,

    Loved honored friend, I saw thee sink forlorn

  Pierced to the soul by cold Neglect's keen dart,

    And Penury's hard ills, and pitying Scorn,

  And the dark spectre of departed JOY

    Inhuman MEMORY. Often on thy grave

  Love I the solitary hour to employ

  Thinking on other days; and heave the sigh

    Responsive, when I mark the high grass wave

  Sad sounding as the cold breeze rustles by.