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Page:The Works of Lord Byron (ed. Coleridge, Prothero) - Volume 1.djvu/148

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108
HOURS OF IDLENESS.

4.

The Patriot's and the Poet's frame
Must share the common tomb of all:
Their glory will not sleep the same;
That will arise, though Empires fall.


5.

The lustre of a Beauty's eye
Assumes the ghastly stare of death;
The fair, the brave, the good must die,
And sink the yawning grave beneath.


6.

Once more, the speaking eye revives,
Still beaming through the lover's strain;
For Petrarch's Laura still survives:
She died, but ne'er will die again.


7.

The rolling seasons pass away,
And Time, untiring, waves his wing;
Whilst honour's laurels ne'er decay,
But bloom in fresh, unfading spring.


8.

All, all must sleep in grim repose,
Collected in the silent tomb;
The old, the young, with friends and foes,
Fest'ring alike in shrouds, consume.