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On the death of Mr Hare by the Dss of devonshire Hark! 'twas the knell of death, --what spirit fled, And burst the shackles man is doom'd to bear? Can it be true,? & midst the senseless dead, must [[underline]] sorrowing thousands, [[/underline]] count the loss of Hare. Shall not his genius, Life's short date prolong (Pure as the Ether of its kindred shy) Shall wit Enchant no longer from his tongue Or beam in [[underline]] vivid flashes [[/underline]] from his Eye? Oh no that mind for Ev'ry purpose fit Has met alas! the universal doom; Unrivall'd fancy, judgment, sense, & wit, Were his, -- [[underline]] & only left [[/underline]] him at the tomb.-- Rest spirit, --rest--, for gentle was thy course Thy rays, like temper'd Suns, no venom know
