In vain satiric wits, with envious aim, Launch'd their keen darts to wound his growing fame; Time's liberal hand in Glory's dome shall place His name, high honour'd with the tuneful race. Long shall the sons of freedom mourn the fate Of Valour, falling with a fallen state; Long shall the sacred tears of Beauty flow For Evelina, and Elfrida's woe: While time endures his Garden's flowers shall bloom, And shed rich fragrance round the Poet's tomb.
