INSCRIPTION V.

This mound in some remote and dateless day

Rear'd o'er a Chieftain of the Ageof Hills,

May here detain thee Traveller! from thy road

Not idly lingering. In his narrow house

Some Warrior sleeps below: his gallant deeds

Haply at many a solemn festival

The Bard has harp'd, but perish'd is the song

Of praise, as o'er these bleak and barren downs

The wind that passes and is heard no more.

Go Traveller on thy way, and contemplate

Glory's brief pageant, and remember then

That one good deed was never wrought in vain.