Stanzas. On The Late Indecent Liberties Taken With The Remains Of Milton.[1]
Me too, perchance, in future days, The sculptured stone shall show, With Paphian myrtle or with bays Parnassian on my brow. But I, or ere that season come, Escaped from every care, Shall reach my refuge in the tomb, And sleep securely there. So sang, in Roman tone and style, The youthful bard, ere long Ordaind to grace his native isle With her sublimest song. Who then but must conceive disdain, Hearing the deed unblest Of wretches who have dared profane His dread sepulchral rest? Ill fare the hands that heaved the stones Where Miltons ashes lay, That trembled not to grasp his bones And steal his dust away! O ill requited bard! neglect Thy living worth repaid, And blind idolatrous respect As much affronts thee dead.
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"Me too, perchance, in future days,..."
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