Page:Poems Denver.djvu/270

To the hue of the dark green forest-leaf,
The smile of joy and the tear of grief?
Or a wish for oblivion's quiet wave,
And a peaceful slumber within the grave?

Or did it speak of a lofty name,
Thus dying without its meed of fame?
An eagle soaring towards the sun,
But drooping before his flight was done?
Did thoughts like these rise with that breath,
To vanish before the conqueror, death?—
Ah, no! a regret more pure and high
Found a voice in the dying exile's sigh.

It spoke of a pleasant distant land,
Of the kindred heart and the clasping hand;
Of the leaf and flower by the zephyr stirred,
And the wind-wild notes of the forest-bird;
Of a lovely cottage beneath the hill,
And the mirthful sound of the mountain-rill;
Of childhood's laughter low and sweet,
And the humming music of merry feet.

Perchance there came with that last deep tone,
The mournful thoughts of a spirit lone;
And we might have seen, had the heart been read,
The whispered prayer for the lowly dead;
Of an honored father's distant grave,
And the soldier-death of a brother brave;
Of a gentle sister's tearful smile,
The living flower of a much-loved isle!