Page:Landon in Literary Gazette 1826.pdf/43

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Dead! the Dead! and sleep they here, The lost of other years— The Dead! the Dead! can they be here, Where nought of Death appears?

The Abbey it hath marble urn, The Churchyard humble stone, The Pyramid its spectral dead, The Catacomb bleach'd bone.

But here is only sunny mound, So quiet in its rest, That though the dew be gone, the hare Skips fearless on its breast.

A small green mound, a summer hill— Why stand and gaze we there? Is it the consciousness of Death Upon the silent air?

Like Memory veiled, Tradition sits Beside the haunted place, And dimly out-lines other days— Men of another race.