Answer To A Beautiful Poem, Entitled 'The Common Lot'
MONTGOMERY!
true,
the
common
lot
Of
mortals
lies
in
Lethe's
wave;
Yet
some
shall
never
be
forgot,
Some
shall
exist
beyond
the
grave.
'Unknown
the
region
of
his
birth,'
The
hero
rolls
the
tide
of
war;
Yet
not
unknown
his
martial
worth,
Which
glares
a
meteor
from
afar.
His
joy
or
grief;
his
weal
or
woe,
Perchance
may
'scape
the
page
of
fame;
Yet
nations
now
unborn
will
know
The
record
of
his
deathless
name.
The
patriot's
and
the
poet's
frame
Must
share
the
common
tomb
of
all:
Their
glory
will
not
sleep
the
same;
That
will
arise,
though
empires
fail.
The
lustre
of
a
beauty's
eye
Assumes
the
ghastly
stare
of
death;
The
fair,
the
brave,
the
good
must
die,
And
sink
the
yawning
grave
beneath
Once
more
the
speaking
eye
revive,
Still
beaming
through
the
lover's
strain;
For
Petrarch's
Laura
still
survives:
She
died,
but
ne'er
will
die
again.
The
rolling
seasons
pass
away,
And
Time,
untiring,
waves
his
wing;
Whilst
honour's
laurel
ne'er
decay,
But
bloom
in
fresh,
unfading
spring.
All,
all
must
sleep
in
grim
repose,
Collected
in
the
silent
tomb;
The
old
and
young,
with
friends
and
foes,
Fest'ring
alike
in
shrouds,
consume.
The
mouldering
marble
lasts
its
day,
Yet
falls
at
length
an
useless
fane;
To
ruin's
ruthless
fangs
a
prey,
The
wrecks
of
pillar'd
pride
remain.
What,
though
the
sculpture
he
destroy'd,
From
dark
oblivion
meant
to
ward;
A
bright
renown
shall
he
enjoy'd
By
those
whose
virtues
claim
reward
Then
do
not
say
the
common
lot
Of
all
lies
deep
in
Lethe's
wave;
Some
few
who
ne'er
will
be
forgot
Shall
burst
the
bondage
of
the
grave.
