Page:Felicia Hemans in Death's Doings.pdf/3



", warrior, arm! and wear thy plume    On a proud and fearless brow! I am the lord of the lonely tomb,     And a mightier one than thou!

"Bid thy soul's love farewell, young chief!    Bid her a long farewell! Like the morning's dew shall pass that grief—     Thou comest with me to dwell!

"Thy bark may rush through the foaming deep,    Thy steed o'er the breezy hill; But they bear thee on to a place of sleep,     Narrow, and cold, and still!"

"Was the voice I heard thy voice, O Death?    And is thy day so near? Then on the field shall my life's last breath     Mingle with Victory's cheer!