Page:Felicia Hemans in The Amulet 1828.pdf/5



And some, in the gloomy convict-cell, To the dull deep note of the warning bell, As it heavily calls them forth to die, While the bright sun mounts in the laughing sky.

And some to the peal of the hunter's horn, And some to the sounds from the city borne; And some to the rolling of torrent-floods, Far 'midst old mountains, and solemn woods.

So are we roused on this chequer'd earth, Each unto life hath a daily birth, Tho' fearful or joyous, tho' sad or sweet, Be the voices which first our upspringing meet.

But must the sound be, and  the call, Which from the dust shall awake us all? , tho' to sever'd and distant dooms— How shall the sleepers arise from their tombs?