The Fall of the Leaf | ||
IX.
You, too, who've lost a friend, so firm—yet mild!—A friend?—nay more—the Empire's darling child!
I hear your sighs;—I feel you scorn relief;
You mourn in public for a private grief:
And when retired—in silence and alone,
You weep in private for a public one.
Ah! well ye may! Yet dry, oh! dry your eyes;
Though in the grave her sainted body lies,
She lives—she lives!—a Christian never dies!
Her soul has burst the fetters of the tomb!
Her soul now flies to her celestial home!
Ah! when arrived at heaven's eternal doors,
Her best and sweetest hope she'll turn on you and yours!
While you and yours shall so embalm her fame,
That every distant age shall venerate her name!
The Fall of the Leaf | ||