A Fragment

When, to their airy hall, my Fathers' voice

Shall call my spirit, joyful in their choice;

When, pois'd upon the gale, my form shall ride,

Or, dark in mist, descend the mountain's side;

Oh! may my shade behold no sculptur'd urns,

To mark the spot where earth to earth returns!

No lengthen'd scroll, no praise-encumber'd stone;

My _epitaph_ shall be my name alone:

If _that_ with honour fail to crown my clay,

Oh! may no other fame my deeds repay!

_That_, only _that_, shall single out the spot;

By that remember'd, or with that forgot.