Page:Betelguese, a trip through hell.djvu/19

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HAT good is Fame when I am dead and gone, When in immarceseible regions

My temple rots and soul doth storm and mourn

As bones of mine adorn an early grave?

Who'll hear and know that I worked hard and long,

That twin sighs and tears storm 'd me by legions, My life, a sunless one—bleak and forlorn.

No ray of light whilst I in thralldom slave?

What good is Fame when I am dead and gone,

When in fenowed abyss', stark and cold,

I wend my solemn footsteps and atone,

Whilst Fame my brow doth crown with its renown?

Who'll know that heart and soul bled on and on,

That storm-swept aches and woes were mine untold,

My life a waste, from which there stole a moan,

No Aureole whilst I in sorrow drown?

What good is Fame when I am dead and gone.

When far and wide my praise is heard and sung,