Oh! breathe not his name, let it sleep in the shade,

Where cold and unhonour'd his relics are laid:

Sad, silent, and dark, be the tears that we shed,

As the night-dew that falls on the grass o'er his head.

But the night-dew that falls, though in silence it weeps,

Shall brighten with verdure the grave where he sleeps;

And the tear that we shed, though in secret it rolls,

Shall long keep his memory green in our souls.