Page:The college beautiful, and other poems.djvu/27

Played ever most melodiously is rent,
And all the music fled.

Alas, cur torch of truth ! the lofty light
That yet a tender household radiance cast,
And made the cottage as the palace bright,
Is blotted out at last.

Alas, the sweet pure life, that ripened still
To holier thought and more benignant grace,
Hath spread its wings, and who is left to fill
The dear and empty place?

How poor thou art, O bleak Atlantic coast!
How barren all thy hills, my mother-land!
Where now amid the nations is thy boast,
And where thy Delphic band?

Of that bright group who sang among thy wheat,
And cheered thy reapers lest their brown arms tire,
Whom ermined Europe raised a hand to greet,
As princes of the lyre,

The first have fallen, and the others wait,
The snow of years on each beloved head,
With weary feet before the sunset gate
That opens toward the Dead.