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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.

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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,-

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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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