Stanzas

I saw him sensitive in frame,
  I knew his spirits low;
And wish’d him health, success, and fame:
  I do not wish it now.

For these are all their own reward,
  And leave no good behind;
They try us, oftenest make us hard,
  Less modest, pure, and kind.

Alas! Yet to the suffering man,
  In this his mortal state,
Friends could not give what Fortune can⁠—
  Health, ease, a heart elate.

But he is now by Fortune foil’d
  No more; and we retain
The memory of a man unspoil’d,
  Sweet, generous, and humane;

With all the fortunate have not⁠—
  With gentle voice and brow.
Alive, we would have chang’d his lot:
  We would not change it now.