THE TWO MONUMENTS.
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A flood of hues!—but one rich dye
O'er all supremely spread,
With a purple robe of royalty
Mantling the mighty dead.
Meet was that robe for him whose name
Was a trumpet note in war,
His pathway still the march of fame,
His eye the battle star.
But faintly, tenderly was thrown
From the colour'd light one ray,
Where a low and pale memorial stone
By the couch of glory lay.
Few were the fond words chisell'd there,
Mourning for parted worth;
But the very heart of love and prayer
Had given their sweetness forth.
