 | The battle of Niagara |  |
The fringe of thin foam that their sepulchre binds,
Is as light as the cloud that is borne by the winds;
While over its bosom the dim vapours hover,
And flutterless skims the snowy-winged plover:
Swiftly passing away—like a hunted wing;
With a drooping plume—that may not fling
One sound of life—or a rustling note—
O'er that sleepless tomb—where my loved ones float.
Is as light as the cloud that is borne by the winds;
While over its bosom the dim vapours hover,
And flutterless skims the snowy-winged plover:
Swiftly passing away—like a hunted wing;
With a drooping plume—that may not fling
One sound of life—or a rustling note—
O'er that sleepless tomb—where my loved ones float.
| The battle of Niagara | |