EPITAPH ON A SCHOOLFELLOW. BY THE SAME. LOV'D BANKS, for thee I heave the frequent sigh, For thee the solemn tear bedews mine eye; No more thy converse blythe shall cheer my day, Or chase the gloom of anxious thought away. And art thou, dear associate! art thou gone? Long must thy friend his sudden loss bemoan; O'er the cold turf where thy pale reliques sleep, Shall fond Remembrance oft repair to weep.