Each In His Narrow Cell Forever Laid,

Can Honor's Voice Provoke The Silent Dust, Or Flattery Soothe The Dull, Cold Ear Of Death?

Her Track, Where'er The Goddess Roves, Glory Pursue, And Gen'rous Shame, Th' Unconquerable Mind, And Freedom's Holy Flame.

Far From The Madding Crowd's Ignoble Strife Their Sober Wishes Never Learn'd To Stray; Along The Cool Sequester'd Vale Of Life They Kept The Noiseless Tenor Of Their Way.

A Fav'rite Has No Friend!

Visions Of Glory, Spare My Aching Sight! Ye Unborn Ages, Crowd Not On My Soul!