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But the poor dog, in life the firmest friend,
Whose honest heart is still his master's own,
Who labours, fights, lives, breathes for him alone,
Unhonoured falls, unnoticed all his worth,
Denied in heaven the soul he held on earth:
While man, vain insect! hopes to be forgiven,
And claims himself a sole exclusive heaven.
Oh man! thou feeble tenant of an hour,
Debased by slavery, or corrupt by power,
Degraded mass of animated dust!
Thy love is lust, thy friendship all a cheat,
To mark a friend's remains these stones arise,
I never knew but one, and here he lies.
Newstead Abbey, Oct. 30, 1808.
FAREWELL! if ever fondest prayer
For other's weal availed on high,
Mine will not all be lost in air,
But waft thy name beyond the sky. 'Twere vain to speak, to weep, to sigh:
Oh! more than tears of blood can tell,
When wrung from guilt's expiring eye,
Are in that word-Farewell!
-Farewell! These lips are mute, these eyes are dry;
But in my breast, and in my brain, Awake the pangs that pass not by,
The thought that ne'er shall sleep again. My soul nor deigns nor dares complain,
Though grief and passion there rebel;
I only know we loved in vain
I only feel-Farewell!--Farewell!