GREAT STEELE, my friend is dead, 0, empty name Of earthly bliss! 'tis all an airy dream! Receive what tears to friendship's loss belong, In the sad subject of a mournful song. Friendship! thou tyranness, whose cruel throne, Heaps on poor mortals sorrows not their own; And yet who courts thee not?----who would be free? Who can be said to live, unb1ess'd by thee? To mourn this loss, let gratitude impart, The honest feelings of a faithful heart: Say, for my theme, what numbers shall I chuse? Thou first instructor of my infant muse?