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And childhood's fragile image Thus fearfully enshrin'd, Survives the proud memorials rear'd   By conquerors of mankind.

Babe! wert thou brightly slumbering Upon thy mother's breast, When suddenly the fiery tomb Shut round each gentle guest?

A strange dark fate o'ertook you, Fair babe and loving heart! One moment of a thousand pangs— Yet better than to part!

Haply of that fond bosom, On ashes here impress'd, Thou wert the only treasure, child! Whereon a hope might rest.