When, to their airy hall, my father’s voice   Shall call my spirit, joyful in their choice;      When, poised upon the gale, my form shall ride,      Or, dark in mist, descend the mountains side;   Oh! may my shade behold no sculptured urns,   To mark the spot where earth to earth returns!      No lengthen’d scroll, no praise-encumber’d stone;      My epitaph shall be my name alone:   If that with honour fail to crown my clay,   Oh! may no other fame my deeds repay!      That, only that, shall single out the spot;      By that remember’d, or with that forgot.