Page:Felicia Hemans in The New Monthly Magazine Volume 23 1828.pdf/7



Alas! the crown, the sceptre, The treasures of the earth, And the priceless love that pour'd those gifts, Alike of wasted worth! The rites are closed—bear back the Dead Unto the chamber deep, Lay down again the royal head, Dust with the dust to sleep.

There is music on the midnight— A requiem sad and slow, As the mourners through the sounding aisle In dark procession go, And the ring of state, and the starry crown, And all the rich array, Are borne to the house of silence down, With her, that Queen of clay.

And tearlessly and firmly, King Pedro led the train— But his face was wrapt in his folding robe, When they lower'd the dust again. —'Tis hush'd at last, the tomb above, Hymns die, and steps depart: Who call'd thee strong as Death, O Love? Mightier thou wert and art!F. H.