From “The Lay of the Last Minstrel,” Canto V.

  CALL it not vain:—they do not err,
    Who say, that when the poet dies,
  Mute nature mourns her worshipper,
    And celebrates his obsequies;
Who say tall cliff, and cavern lone,
For the departed...

Good people all, of every sort,
  Give ear unto my song;
And if you find it wondrous short,
  It cannot hold you long.

In Islington there was a man
  Of whom the world might say,
That still a godly race he ran—
  Whene’er he went to pray...