Page:Poems Acton.djvu/114

For he who cold in death doth lie,
Hath left a name that shall not die,
      But still live proudly on.

And some are there whose hearts beat high
 To feel how wide his fame;
Compelled their native land to fly,
 They venerate the name
Of him, the gifted son of song,
Who nobly felt their country's wrong,
      And dared its friend to be!

And forth stands one amidst the band,
 A tribute of the brave,
To scatter, with a trembling hand,
 Dust from a patriot's grave;
The relics of a spirit bold,
Whose deeds the sons of Poland hold,
      In hallowed memory.

And o'er the cold and senseless clay
 The honoured shower fell,
And hearts beat warm as there it lay
 Beneath a gushing spell;
A passing gleam, a vision bright
Of courage high and deeds of might,
      Swept on with magic breath.