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George Gordon Byron - Answer To A Beautiful Poem, Entitled `The Common Lot`
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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.
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