198
FRANCISCO MARTINEZ DE LA ROSA.
Thine eyes scarce raising, fearing to behold
The monument of thine eternal grief,
That guards her ashes! Different she consoled,
Hastening in charity, as for relief
The poor unhappy and the orphans knew!
For whom she ever show'd a parent's care:
They who partook her gifts and kindness true,
Now in long files and slow, thy griefs to share
Silent and mournful on thy steps attend,
Around her tomb; dost thou not hear them? theirs,
Theirs are the tearful sobbings that ascend,
And cries that interrupt the funeral prayers.
Not ev'n a flower to deck her sepulchre,
Have I to send thee! flowers may not be grown
To bud in beds of ice; or if they were,
They soon would wither at my touch alone.
