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On some fond breast the parting soul relies, Some pious drops the closing eye requires; E'en from the tomb the voice of Nature cries, E'en in our ashes live their wonted fires.


For thee, who, mindful of th' unhonour'd Dead,
Dost in these lines their artless tale relate;

If chance, by lonely Contemplation led,
Some kindred spirit shall inquire thy fate,-


Haply some hoary-headed swain may say,
"Oft have we seen him at the peep of dawn
Brushing with hasty steps the dews away,
To meet the sun upon the upland lawn:

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