Stanzas to [Branwell Brontë?]

WELL, some may hate, and some may scorn,

And some may quite forget thy name;

But my sad heart must ever mourn

Thy ruined hopes, thy blighted fame!

’Twas thus I thought, an hour ago,

Even weeping o’er that wretch’s woe;

One word turned back my gushing tears,

And lit my altered eye with sneers.

Then, ‘Bless the friendly dust’, I said,

‘That hides thy unlamented head!

Vain as thou wert, and weak as vain,

The slave of Falsehood, Pride, and Pain—

My heart has nought akin to thine;

Thy soul is powerless over mine.’

But these were thoughts that vanished too;

Unwise, unholy, and untrue:

Do I despise the timid deer,

Because his limbs are fleet with fear?

Or, would I mock the wolf’s death-howl,

Because his form is gaunt and foul?

Or, hear with joy the leveret’s cry,

Because it cannot bravely die?

No! Then above his memory

Let Pity’s heart as tender be;

Say, ‘Earth lie lightly on that breast,

And, kind Heaven, grant that spirit rest!’