• 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 bard make moan;
    That mountains weep in crystal rill;
    That flowers in tears of balm...

  • 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.

    A kind and gentle heart he had,
      To comfort friends and foes:
    The naked...