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
Say, 'Earth, lie lightly on that breast,
And, kind Heaven, grant that spirit rest!'