He sought for fame, he won it, bravely won;
He died for fame, when his great task was done.
What tho' I turn the banquet room to grief,
The wedding garment to a garb of woe,
Do I not bring to wounded hearts relief?
Do I not ease the wretched of his woe?
Then taunt me not with wanton cruelty,
Man knows 'tis written 'thou must surely die!'
But at what hour, no mortal power may know,
Whether at morn, at dewy eve, or night,