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SONGS OF THE AFFECTIONS.
I breathed it not o'er kingly tombs,
But where my children lay,
And the startled vulture, at my step,
Soar'd from their precious clay.
I stood amidst my dead alone—
I kiss'd their lips—I pour'd,
In the strong silence of that hour,
My spirit on my sword.
The roof-tree fall'n, the smouldering floor,
The blacken'd threshold-stone,
The bright hair torn, and soil'd with blood,
Whose fountain was my own;
These, and the everlasting hills,
Bore witness that wild night;
Before them rose th' avenger's soul,
In crush'd affection's might.
The stars, the searching stars of heaven,
With keen looks would upbraid,
