Page:Records of Woman.pdf/214

206

"The very walls your bounty rear'd, for the stranger’s homeless head, Shall find a murmur to record your tale, my glorious dead! Tho' the grass be where ye feasted once, where lute and cittern rung, And the serpent in your palaces lie coil'd amidst its young.

"It is enough! mine eye no more of joy or splendour sees, I leave your name in lofty faith, to the skies and to the breeze! I go, since earth her flower hath lost, to join the bright and fair, And call the grave a kingly house, for ye, my chiefs, are there!"