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.