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Where is the grave of Sir Arthur O'Kellyn? / Where may the grave of that good man be? -- / By the side of a spring, on the breast of Helvellyn, / Under the twigs of a young birch tree! / The oak that in summer was sweet to hear, / And rustled its leaves in the fall of the year, / And whistled and roar'd in the winter alone, / Is gone, -- and the birch in its stead is grown. -- / The Knight's bones are dust, / And his good sword rust; -- / His soul is with the saints, I trust.