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Why changes now the patriot's mien, Erewhile so loftily serene? Thus can approaching death control The might of that commanding soul? No!—Heard ye not that thrilling cry Which told of bitterest agony? He heard it, and, at once subdued, Hath sunk the hero's fortitude. He heard it, and his heart too well Whence rose that voice of woe can tell; And midst the gazing throngs around One well-known form his glance hath found; One fondly loving and beloved, In grief, in peril, faithful proved. Yes, in the wildness of despair, She, his devoted bride, is there. Pale, breathless, through the crowd she flies, The light of frenzy in her eyes: But ere her arms can clasp the form, Which life ere long must cease to warm; Ere on his agonizing breast Her heart can heave, her head can rest; Check'd in her course by ruthless hands, Mute, motionless, at once she stands;