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Immortal, and worth immortality; Yielding the hero that eternal name For which he fought; making the patriot's deed A stirring record for long after time; Cherishing tender thoughts, which else had pass'd Away like tears; and saving the loved dead From death's worst part—its deep forgetfulness.

From the first moment when a falling leaf, Or opening bud, or streak of rose-touch'd sky, Waken'd in me the flush and flow of song, I gave my soul entire unto the gift I deem'd mine own, direct from heaven; it was The hope, the bliss, the energy of life; I had no hope that dwelt not with my lyre, No bliss whose being grew not from my lyre,