Poems by Currer, Ellis, and Acton Bell

 Well, some may hate, and some may scorn,
     And some may quite forget thy name;
     But my sad heart must ever mourn
     Thy ruined hopes, thy blighted fame!
     'Twas thus I thought, an hour ago,
     Even weeping o'er that wretch's woe;
     One word turned back my gushing tears,
     And lit my altered eye with sneers.
     Then "Bless the friendly dust," I said,
     "That hides thy unlamented head!
     Vain as thou wert, and weak as vain,
     The slave of Falsehood, Pride, and Pain—
     My heart has nought akin to thine;
     Thy soul is powerless over mine."
     But these were thoughts that vanished too;
     Unwise, unholy, and untrue:
     Do I despise the timid deer,
     Because his limbs are fleet with fear?
     Or, would I mock the wolf's death-howl,
     Because his form is gaunt and foul?
     Or, hear with joy the leveret's cry,
     Because it cannot bravely die?
     No!  Then above his memory
     Let Pity's heart as tender be;
     Say, "Earth, lie lightly on that breast,
     And, kind Heaven, grant that spirit rest!"