Written in a Volume of Shakspeare.

How bravely Autumn paints upon the sky

The gorgeous fame of Summer which is fled!

Hues of all flow’rs, that in their ashes lie,

Trophied in that fair light whereon they fed —

Tulip, and hyacinth, and sweet rose red —

Like exhalations from the leafy mould,

Look here how honor glorifies the dead............