Page:The Works of Lord Byron (ed. Coleridge, Prothero) - Volume 1.djvu/323

Rh But the poor dog, in life the firmest friend,

The first to welcome, foremost to defend,

Whose honest heart is still his master's own,

Who labours, fights, lives, breathes for him alone,

Unhonour'd falls, unnoticed all his worth—

Denied in heaven the soul he held on earth:

While Man, vain insect! hopes to be forgiven,

And claims himself a sole exclusive Heaven.

Oh Man! thou feeble tenant of an hour,

Debased by slavery, or corrupt by power,

Who knows thee well must quit thee with disgust,

Degraded mass of animated dust!

Thy love is lust, thy friendship all a cheat,

Thy smiles hypocrisy, thy words deceit!

By nature vile, ennobled but by name,

Each kindred brute might bid thee blush for shame.

Ye! who perchance behold this simple urn,

Pass on—it honours none you wish to mourn:

To mark a Friend's remains these stones arise;

I never knew but one,—and here he lies.

Newstead Abbey, October 30, 1808. [First published, 1809.]