The Bard is killed! The honor's striver Fell, slandered by a gossip's dread, With lead in breast and vengeful fire, Drooped with his ever-proud head. The Poet's soul did not bear The shameful hurts of low breed, He fought against the worldly "faire," Alone as always,... and is killed! He's killed! What for are late orations Of useless praise; and weeps and moans, And gibberish of explanations? -- The fate had brought her verdict on! Had not you first so hard maltreated His free and brave poetic gift, And, for your pleasure, fanned and fitted The fire that in ashes drifts? You may be happy... T