30
lament for nathaniel m'lain.
But not for me, oh! not for me,
To look upon thy face,—
Only the mournful task is mine,
This record sad to trace:
For now, O brother of my soul!
From earth thou'st passed away,
And that warm, generous heart of thine,
Lies 'neath the cold, cold clay.
To look upon thy face,—
Only the mournful task is mine,
This record sad to trace:
For now, O brother of my soul!
From earth thou'st passed away,
And that warm, generous heart of thine,
Lies 'neath the cold, cold clay.
In sable garb, with saddened step,
And sadly-waving plume,
They laid thee with thy young renown,
Low in the silent tomb;
With laurels fresh upon thy brow,
They laid thee down to rest
Within thine own dear native land—
Fair Valley of the West!
And sadly-waving plume,
They laid thee with thy young renown,
Low in the silent tomb;
With laurels fresh upon thy brow,
They laid thee down to rest
Within thine own dear native land—
Fair Valley of the West!
Our father's joy is turned to grief;
Our mother's hopes have fled;
The visions that we cherished, all
Like withered leaves lie dead:
Our mother's hopes have fled;
The visions that we cherished, all
Like withered leaves lie dead:
