Well, some may hate, and some may scorn,
And some may quite forget thy name;
But my sad heart must ever mourn
Thy ruined hopes, thy blighted fame!
'Twas thus I thought, an hour ago,
Even weeping o'er that weretch's woe;
One word turned back my gushing tears,
And lif my aftered eye with sneers.
Then 'Bless the friendly dust', I said,
'That hides thy unlamented head!
Vain as thou werf, and week as vain,
The slave of Falsehood, Pride and Pain,
My heart has nought akin to thine;
Thy soul is powerless over mine.'
But these were thouhts that vanished too;
Unwise, unholy and untrue:
Do, I despise the timid deer,
Becouse his limbs are fleet with feer?
Or, would I mock the wolf's death-howl,
Becouse his form is gauht and foul?
Or, hear with joy the leveret's cry,
Becouse it cannot bravely die?
No! Then above his memory
Yet Pity's heart as tender be;
Say, 'Earth, lie lightly on that breast,
And, kind Heaven, grant that spirit rest!'
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