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Well, some may hate, and some may scorn,

And some may quite forget thy name;

But my sad heart must ever

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

Let Pity's heart as tender be;

Say, "Earth, lie lightly on that breast,

And, kind Heaven, grant that spirit rest!"

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Emily Jane Bronte

Emily Jane Brontë (30 July 1818 – 19 December 1848) was an English novelist and poet who is best known for her only novel, Wuthering Heights, no…

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