Page:May-day and other pieces, Emerson, 1867.djvu/161

Rh Which more of pride than pity gave

To mark the Briton's friendless grave.

Yet it is a stately tomb;

The grand return

Of eve and morn,

The year's fresh bloom,

The silver cloud,

Might grace the dust that is most proud.

Yet not of these I muse

In this ancestral place,

But of a kindred face

That never joy or hope shall here diffuse.

Ah, brother of the brief but blazing star!

What hast thou to do with these

Haunting this bank's historic trees?

Thou born for noblest life,

For action's field, for victor's car,