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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, 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!"
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