One leap,—one groan,—and all was hush'd,—
He bow'd his noble head,
And free the deep, red streamlet gush'd
To lave his master's bed.
Sad groups to guard their chieftain's clay
The tumulus prepare,
While low a weeping mourner lay
With dark, dishevell'd hair.
And when the evening star is bright,
Full oft her widow'd cry,
Goes forth upon the stilly night,
"Why warrior,—didst thou die?"—
THE CEMETERY OF PERE LA CHAISE.
Is this the abode of the dead?—Oh no!—
The symbols of joy are here,—
Gay wreaths round columns of marble glow,
From bright-wing'd birds sweet melodies flow,
Nor cypress nor yew are near.
I thought that the city which death had rear'd
Was with banners of grief o'erspread,—
That pleasure to weave her light garland fear'd,
And the path to its desolate shrines appear'd
Deep worn by the mourner's tread.
Yet still is there nought of secret wo
'Neath the guise of this gaudy cheer?—
On yon little mound where roses grow,
Methinks that pale flower with its lip of snow
Hath drank of a mother's tear.
