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LYMAN HEATH
American poet and song writer
(1804 - 1870)

Oft did I wonder why the setting sun
  Should look upon us with a blushing face:
    Is't not for shame of what he hath seen done,
      Whilst in our hemisphere he ran his race?
      - First Century--On the Setting Sun [Sunset]

On a lone barren isle, where the wild roaring billows
  Assail the stern rock, and the loud tempests rave,
    The hero lies still, while the dew-drooping willows,
      Like fond weeping mourners, lean over his grave.
        The lightnings may flash and the loud thunders rattle;
          He heeds not, he hears not; he's free from all pain.
            He sleeps his last sleep, he has fought his last battle;
              No sound can awake him to glory again!
      - attributed to The Grave of Bonaparte
        [Death]

Yet spirit immortal, the tomb cannot bind thee,
  But like thine own eagle that soars to the sun
    Thou springest from bondage and leavest behind thee
      A name which before thee no mortal hath won.
      - attributed to The Grave of Bonaparte
        [Immortality]


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