Robert Emmet O, BREATHE not his name! let it sleep in the shade, Where cold and unhonored his relics are laid; Sad, silent, and dark be the tears that we shed, As the night-dew that falls on the grave o’er his head. But the night-dew that falls, though in silence it weeps, Shall brighten with verdure the grave where he sleeps; And the tear that we shed, though in secret it rolls, Shall long keep his memory green in our souls.
“O, breathe not his name”
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