"We lived in sumptuous palaces— Death seemed an idle tale; And to a sweet philosophy We spread our silken sail. "I thought not that the loved could die, "We loved we lived for seven short years In a dream of wild delight; And beautiful young creatures grew, "I dreamed not that the fair could fade, Nor that the loved could die ! But the whirlwind came when day was calm, And swept in fury by! 'My children, those fair tender things, Faded like summer-snow; I buried them 'neath a flowery sod, In a wild amaze of woe. "I had not seen the pallid face Of awful death before, And back I went to my stately house With new and solemn lore. "The pestilence had done its work— "I was a man, and so I mourned; "Body and soul they both were weak, And it was in the city said, That like a madman or a fool I made my mourning for the dead. "The young, the happy shunned my I sate alone from morn till night; And at my lean and drooping form Men gazed as at a fearful sight. "At length, by chance, I met a man, Old and despised, and very poor; A man of a most righteous life, door Who yet asked alms from door to door. "He was my comforter- from him I learned a faith that saved my soul;The blessings of the Christian's hope He gave me, and my mind grew whole. ; "I saw that in God's righteous will My knee at length, and even gave thanks "From that good time I spent my days "The blessing of the Holy One Went with me to each distant land; "But ere my noon of life was o'er, "Near a small church, that from the days 66 But hark!-the third cock crows aloud! Mother, thy race is well nigh run, And the palm in heaven grows green for thee! Farewell!-we meet at set of sun!" Στένω, στένω σε, δισσὰ καὶ τριπλᾶ δορὸς Lycophr. Cassandr. v. 69. I. "THEY hurried to the feast, The warrior, and the priest, And the gay maiden with her jewelled brow; The minstrel's harp and voice Said Triumph and rejoice!' One only mourned!—many are mourning now! II. "Peace! startle not the light With the wild dreams of night:' So spake the Princes in their pride and joy, When I in their dull ears Shrieked forth my tale of tears, Woe to the gorgeous city, woe to Troy!' |