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elegiac ode.
111
And bid them pierce the echoing skies
With hymns of victory!

Amid life's humblest, lowliest scene,
Where the year glides untraced away,
And man, as he had never been,
Forgot, unheeded, or unseen,
  Resigns his little day,
E'en o'er his undistinguish'd brow
A while the mourner Pity weeps,
Her teeming eyes incessant flow,
To wet the turf, where pale and low,
Some silent mortal sleeps:
  But when the hero dies,
  A suffering country sighs!
Yet soon the melancholy pause,
To grateful sorrow given,