Where'er the great have lived or died,
A charm pervades the very air;
And generous spirits, pausing, oft
Will pour the heart's deep homage there.

Thus, thou, sequestered, simple spot!
Where dwelt a mighty one of yore,
Becomest a shrine, where pilgrims kneel,
From earth's remotest, every shore.

Whose fame, where'er a patriot breathes
A thought of freedom, has been heard;
And fallen on tyrant's startled souls,
Like coming fate's prophetic word.

Yet, shame upon this senseless age,
Which blindly worships guilty gold,
No votive marble shows the tomb,
Whose vault received his ashes cold.

Alas! that this should be our shame!
For which even yet our eyes shall weep;
Nought points the world's admiring eye,
To where its friend's sad relics sleep.