Page:The Court Magazine Tributes.pdf/2



Thy songs are cenotaph'd in human hearts; Thy memory lives while language holds its sway, Thy name a cloud of dream-like joy imparts To all the young and beautiful of clay, Who, as the tear of woe unbidden starts From the soul's fountain, feel a prayer-born ray Burst from the bleeding breast to that high throne, Where the unfolded heart is read—alone. B. B.