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!"