To Francis Hare, Buried at Palermo, on the Insurrection of Sicily and Naples

Hare! thou art sleeping where the sun strikes hot
On the gold letters that inscribe thy tomb,
And what there passeth round thee knowest not,
Nor pierce those eyes (so joyous once) the gloom;
Else would the brightest vision of thy youth
Rise up before thee, not by Fancy led,
But moving stately at the side of Truth,
Nor higher than the living stand the dead.