Visions of glory, spare my aching sight! Ye unborn ages, crowd not on my soul!

And truth severe, by fairy fiction drest.

Daughter of Jove, relentless power, Thou tamer of the human breast, Whose iron scourge and tort'ring hour The bad affright, afflict the best!

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.

Nor grandeur hear with a disdainful smile The short and simple annals of the poor.

And weep the more, because I weep in vain.

Can honor's voice provoke the silent dust, or flattery soothe the dull, cold ear of death?