While silently around it spread,
Thou feel'st the presence of the dead.
And what within is richly shrined?—
A sculptured woman's form,
Lovely in perfect rest reclined,
As one beyond the storm:
Yet not of death, but slumber, lies
The solemn sweetness on those eyes.*[1]
The folded hands, the calm pure face,
The mantle's quiet flow,
The gentle, yet majestic grace,
Throned on the matron brow:—
These, in that scene of tender gloom,
With a still glory robe the tomb.
There stands an eagle, at the feet
Of the fair image wrought—
A kingly emblem—nor unmeet
To wake yet deeper thought:
She, whose high heart finds rest below,
Was royal in her birth and woe.
There are pale garlands hung above
Of dying scent and hue;
She was a mother—in her love
How sorrowfully true!
Oh! hallowed long be every leaf,
The record of her children's grief!
She saw their birthright's warrior-crown
Of olden glory spoiled—
The standard of their sires bore down—
The shield's bright blazon soiled:
She met the tempest meekly brave,
Then turned, o'erwearied, to the grave.
She slumbered; but it came—it came,
Her land's redeeming hour,
With the glad shout and signal-flame,
Sent on from tower to tower:
Fast through the land a spirit moved—
'Twas her's, the lofty and the loved.
Then was her name a word that rung
To rouse bold hearts from sleep;
Her memory, as a banner flung
Forth by the Baltic deep:
Her grief, a bitter vial poured
To sanctify th' Avenger's sword.
And the proud eagle spread again
Its pinion to the sun;
And the strong land shook off its chain—
So was the triumph won!
But woe for earth! where Sorrow's tone
Still blends with Victory's!—she was gone!F. H.
- ↑ * The character of this monumental statue is that of the deepest serenity; the repose, however, of sleep—not the grave.—See the description in Russell's "Germany."