Why blush to let our tears unmeasured fallFor one so dear? Begin the mournful stave,Melpomene, to whom the sire of allSweet voice with music gave.And sleeps he then the heavy sleep of death,Quintilius? Piety, twin sister dearOf Justice! naked Truth! unsullied Faith!When will ye find his peer?By many a good man wept, Quintilius dies;By none than you, my Virgil, trulier wept:Devout in vain, you chide the faithless skies,Asking your loan ill-kept.No, though more suasive than the bard of Thrace You swept the lyre that trees were fain to hear,Ne'er should the blood revisit his pale faceWhom once with wand severeMercury has folded with the sons of night,Untaught to prayer Fate's prison to unseal.Ah, heavy grief! but patience makes more lightWhat sorrow may not heal.