Page:The Works of Lord Byron (ed. Coleridge, Prothero) - Volume 1.djvu/281

Rh Oh Fame! thou goddess of my heart;

On him who gains thy praise,

Pointless must fall the Spectre's dart,

Consumed in Glory's blaze;

But me she beckons from the earth,

My name obscure, unmark'd my birth,

My life a short and vulgar dream:

Lost in the dull, ignoble crowd,

My hopes recline within a shroud,

My fate is Lethe's stream.

10.

When I repose beneath the sod,

Unheeded in the clay,

Where once my playful footsteps trod,

Where now my head must lay,

The meed of Pity will be shed

In dew-drops o'er my narrow bed,

By nightly skies, and storms alone;

No mortal eye will deign to steep

With tears the dark sepulchral deep

Which hides a name unknown.

11.

Forget this world, my restless sprite,

Turn, turn thy thoughts to Heaven;