EEPING o'er thy sacred urn, Ever shall the muses mourn; Sadly shall their numbers flow, Ever elegant in woe, 4
Thousands, nobly born, shall dy, Thousands in oblivion ly, Names, which leave no trace behind, Like the clouds before the wind, 8 When the dusky shadows pass, Lightly fleeting o'er the grass.
But, O Halifax, thy name Shall through ages rise in fame:12 Sweet remembrance shalt thou find, Sweet in every noble mind.