The husband that mother and infant who blessed—
Each and all are away to their dwellings of rest.
The maid on whose cheek, on whose brow, in whose eye,
Shone beauty and pleasure—her triumphs are by;
And the memory of those who loved her and praised
Is alike from the minds of the living erased.
The hand of the king that the scepter has borne,
The brow of the priest that the miter has worn,
The eye of the sage and the heart of the brave
Are hidden and lost in the depths of the grave.