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Entitled: "The Common Lot"

Lord Byron

NOTE:   The Common Lot was written by James Montgomery ( 1771-1854 )


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 pariot'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 fall.

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 revives,

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 laurels 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 be destroy'd

From dark oblivion meant to guard;

A bright renown shall be 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.


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