This mound in some remote and dateless day br Rear'd o'er a Chieftain of the Age of Hills, br May here detain thee Traveller! from thy road br Not idly lingering. In his narrow house br Some Warrior sleeps below: his gallant deeds br Haply at many a solemn festival br The Bard has harp'd, but perish'd is the song br Of praise, as o'er these bleak and barren downs br The wind that passes and is heard no more. br Go Traveller on thy way, and contemplate br Glory's brief pageant, and remember then br That one good deed was never wrought in vain.