Page:Felicia Hemans in The New Monthly Magazine Volume 17 1826.pdf/6



"By the house e'en here o'erthrown,    On my brethren's native spot; Hence! with his dark renown, Cumber our birth-place not!

"Will my sire's unransom'd field,    O'er which your censers wave, To the buried spoiler yield     Soft slumbers in the grave?

"The tree before him fell    Which we cherish'd many a year, But its deep root yet shall swell,     And heave against his bier!

"The land that I have till'd,    Hath yet its brooding breast With my Home's white ashes fill'd,     And it shall not give him rest!

"Each pillar's massy bed    Hath been wet by weeping eyes —Away! bestow your Dead     Where no wrong against him cries."

Shame glow'd on each dark face Of those proud and steel-girt men, And they bought with gold a place For their leader's dust e'en then.

A little earth for him Whose banner flew so far! —And a peasant's tale could dim The name, a nation's star!

One deep voice thus arose From a heart which wrongs had riven— Oh! who shall number those That were but heard in Heaven? F. H.