IX.

IX. Perhaps I loved it well: and should I lay My ashes in a soil which is not mine, My spirit shall resume it--if we may Unbodied choose a sanctuary. I twine My hopes of being remembered in my line With my land's language: if too fond and far These aspirations in their scope incline,-- If my fame should be, as my fortunes are, Of hasty growth and blight, and dull Oblivion bar.