Page:Poems Sigourney 1827.pdf/210

210  But in vain We stand communing with the faithless tomb That cast thee forth.—The strong-cemented rock Lays claim to immortality,—but dust Man's dust, must yield each element a part, To pay Creation's loan, nor can he cling To the brief memory of a shadowy race, Save through his deeds.— O Woman, nurse of Man!— Make not thy grave beneath the imposing arch, Or the drear pyramid;—enshrine thyself Amid thy buried virtues, in the heart Of him who loves thee, make thy monument The graces of thine offspring, and the thanks Of all who mourn. So shalt thou miss the pomp Of this world's triumph, and thy noteless tomb Be glorious in the resurrection morn.

 

Cold and inanimate!—Would thou couldst ope Thy marble lips, and tell what thou hadst seen Upon the ides of March!—thou, at whose feet Fell the world's monarch, eloquent and brave, The great in conquest, and the proud of soul.— Waked there no spark Promethean in thy breast, When sadly muffled in his mantle's fold Fainting, he fell on thee?— 