On Robert Emmet's Grave

...

No trump tells thy virtues--the grave where they rest With thy dust shall remain unpolluted by fame, Till thy foes, by the world and by fortune caressed, Shall pass like a mist from the light of thy name.

When the storm-cloud that lowers o'er the day-beam is gone, Unchanged, unextinguished its life-spring will shine; When Erin has ceased with their memory to groan, She will smile through the tears of revival on thine.