STANZAS TO ----
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 wretch's
woe;
One word turned back my
gushing tears,
And lit my altered eye with
sneers.
Then "Bless the friendly
dust," I said,
"That hides thy unlamented
head!
Vain as thou wert, and weak
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 thoughts
that vanished too;
Unwise, unholy, and untrue:
Do I despise the timid deer,
Because his limbs are fleet
with fear?
Or, would I mock the wolf's
death-howl,
Because his form is gaunt
and foul?
Or, hear with joy the leveret's
cry,
Because it cannot bravely
die?
No! Then above his
memory
Let Pity's heart as tender
be;
Say, "Earth, lie lightly
on that breast,
And, kind Heaven, grant
that spirit rest!" |
