Page:Records of Woman.pdf/311

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These birds of Paradise but long to flee Back to their native mansion. Prophecy of Dante.

!—and for whom? For beauty in its bloom? For valour fall'n—a broken rose or sword? A dirge for king or chief, With pomp of stately grief, Banner, and torch, and waving plume deplor'd?

Not so, it is not so! The warning voice I know, From other worlds a strange mysterious tone; A solemn funeral air It call'd me to prepare, And my heart answer'd secretly—my own!