Felicia Hemans

“ Thine inmost heart, when Death that anxious bosom still'd.
Thy lov'd ones fell around thee—manhood's prime,
Youth, with its glory, in its fulness, Age,
All, at the gates of their eternal clime
Lay down, and closed their mortal pilgrimage;
The land wore ashes for its perish'd flowers,
The grave's imperial harvest. Thou, meanwhile,
Didst walk unconscious thro' thy royal towers,
The one that wept not in the tearful isle!
As a tired warrior, on his battle-plain,
Breathes deep in dreams amidst the mourners and the slain
And who can tell what visions might be thine? ”

“ The dust of empires flit, before a breath of God.
And yet we mourn thee! yes! thy place is void
Within our hearts—there veil'd thine image dwelt,
But cherish'd still; and o'er that tie destroy'd,
Tho' Faith rejoice, fond Nature still must melt. ”

“ Fathers have sorrow'd o'er their beauteous dead,
Eyes, quench'd in night, the sun-beam have forgot;
Minds have striv'n buoyantly with evil years.
And sunk beneath their gathering weight at length;
But Pain for thee had fill'd a cup of tears,
Where every anguish mingled all its strength ”