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Rh

Orlando, thou wilt tell them, that my death Was such as well became a hero's child!"

V.

How precious is the memory of those Who slumber in the tomb! their lightest word And look is then recall'd, and hallowed As tender relics love had left behind— Sweet but sad treasures! ah, how dear the thought Which dwells on those departed; when the heart Beats quick with fond reflections, and the worth, The praise of those gone to their silent sleep, Comes like a healing balm to sorrow's wound. Most soothing was it to the father's grief To hear how gloriously his Ernest fell; Still would he ask Orlando of the fields Which they had fought together; and the tale, Tho' often told, was sweet unto his ear, As the blithe peal, that tells the traveller,