Ah, Tell Them They Are Men!

Hands That The Rod Of Empire Might Have Sway'd, Or Waked To Ecstasy The Living Lyre.

No Further Seek His Merits To Disclose, Or Draw His Frailties From Their Dread Abode (there They Alike In Trembling Hope Repose), The Bosom Of His Father And His God.

Here Rests His Head Upon The Lap Of Earth, A Youth To Fortune And To Fame Unknown: Fair Science Frown'd Not On His Humble Birth, And Melancholy Mark'd Him For Her Own.

E'en From The Tomb The Voice Of Nature Cries, E'en In Our Ashes Live Their Wonted Fires.

Her Track, Where'er The Goddess Roves, Glory Pursue, And Gen'rous Shame, Th' Unconquerable Mind, And Freedom's Holy Flame.