Visions of glory, spare my aching sight! Ye unborn ages, crowd not on my soul!
And hie him home, at evening's close, To sweet repast and calm repose.
Full many a gem of purest ray serene The dark unfathom'd caves of ocean bear: Full many a flower is born to blush unseen, And waste its sweetness on the desert air.
Implores the passing tribute of a sigh.
Sorrow's faded form, and solitude behind.
Can honor's voice provoke the silent dust, or flattery soothe the dull, cold ear of death?