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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, they 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 the 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.
