POEMS.
103
Pass we, the frantic woe too late to save;
The wailing dirge, the stricken chief's despair.
In the far west there is a hallow'd grave,
Sheltered by trees—Nairla is sleeping there!
H. A.
The wailing dirge, the stricken chief's despair.
In the far west there is a hallow'd grave,
Sheltered by trees—Nairla is sleeping there!
H. A.
A TRIBUTE TO CAMPBELL, THE POET.
[As the remains of Campbell were being lowered into the grave, a Polish nobleman who attended the funeral took a handful of earth which had been brought from the tomb of Kosciusko, and scattered it over the coffin of him who had so warmly pourtrayed the wrongs and woes of Poland].
There sweepeth through the abbey proud
A low and solemn sound;
A mourning train in sorrow bowed,
The dead are gathered round;
And sadly on the listening ear
The parting words come o'er the bier,
A mighty mind hath gone!
A low and solemn sound;
A mourning train in sorrow bowed,
The dead are gathered round;
And sadly on the listening ear
The parting words come o'er the bier,
A mighty mind hath gone!
The high and learned of the land,
In honour to the dead,
Are mingled with the kindred band,
Who mourn the spirit fled.
In honour to the dead,
Are mingled with the kindred band,
Who mourn the spirit fled.
