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 blighted² fame！ 'Twas thus I thought, an hour ago, Even weeping o'er that wretch's woe³； One word turned back my gushing⁴ tears, And lit my altered eye with sneers⁵. 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 nought⁶ akin⁷ 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 foul⁸？ 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！"