text:  And must we yet another page unfold To glean fresh moral from the deeds of old? Ye busy spirits that pervade the air And still with dark intents to earth repair; That goad the passions of the human breast And bear the missives of Fate's stern behest-- Say stifle ye those thoughts that Heaven reveals-- The tears of sympathy--the glow that steals O'er the young heart or prompts soft pity's sigh-- The prayer to snatch from harsh captivity The virtuous doom'd--teach but to praise--admire-- Forbid to catch one spark of generous fire? The godlike wish of genius man to bless With rank and wealth still leaguing to oppress! Oh! when shall glory wreathe bright virtue's claim And both to honour give a holier fame? Ye towers of death!--the noblest still your prey Here spent in solitude their sunless day; In your wall'd graves a living doom they found; Broke o'er their night no ray no gladd'ning sound