Elizabeth Margaret Chandler

“ The youth drank of life's cup, while joy bathed its brim,
But the long draught of bitterness was not for him,
And the pride-curl'd lip is white!
The young and the old are there,
The coward heart and the brave—
Those to whom life in her morning shone fair,
And those who were wasted with cankering care,
The freeman, the tyrant, the slave.
The infant is there, with the light
Of his innocent smile round his brow;
He laugh'd when the foam on that pitiless night,
Curl'd o'er the rude wave with its sparkles of light—
But his blue eye is slumbering now. ”