"Me too, perchance, in future days, br The sculptured stone shall show, br With Paphian myrtle or with bays br Parnassian on my brow. br br But I, or e'er that season come, br Escaped from every care, br Shall reach my refuge in the tomb, br And sleep securely there." br br So sang, in Roman tone and style, br The youthful bard, ere long br Ordained to grace his native isle br With her sublimest song. br br Who then but must conceive disdain, br Hearing the deed unblest, br Of wretches who have dared profane br His dread sepulchral rest? br br Ill fare the hands that heaved the stones br Where Milton's ashes lay, br That trembled not to grasp his bones br And steal his dust away! br br O ill-requited bard! neglect br Thy living worth repaid, br And blind idolatrous respect br As much affronts thee dead.