Page:Felicia Hemans in The Winter's Wreath 1829.pdf/9



Therefore a current of sadness deep Through the stream of thy triumphs is heard to sweep, Like a moan of the breeze through a summer sky— Like a name of the dead when the wine foams high!

Yet speak to me still, though thy tones be fraught With vain remembrance and troubled thought;— Speak! for thou tellest my soul that its birth Links it with regions more bright than earth!