Page:Pocahontas, and Other Poems.djvu/183



of Earth's most polish'd clime! Whose path of splendid care Did touch the zenith-point of hope, The nadir of despair,—

Here doth thy wrong'd, confiding heart Resign its tortur'd thrill, And slumber like the peasant's dust, All unconcern 'd and still.

Did Love yon arch of marble rear To mark the hallow'd ground? And bid those Doric columns spring With clustering roses crown'd?

Say,—did it come with gifts of peace To deck thy couch of gloom?