Lord Byron

A Fragment: When, To Their Airy Hall

When, to their airy hall, my father’s voice Shall call my spirit, joyful in their choice; When, poised upon the gale, my form shall ride, Or, dark in mist, descend the mountains side; Oh! may my shade behold no sculptured urns, To mark the spot where earth to earth returns! No lengthen’d scroll, no praise-encumber’d stone; My epitaph shall be my name alone: If that with honour fail to crown my clay, Oh! may no other fame my deeds repay! That, only that, shall single out the spot; By that remember’d, or with that forgot.

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