And the stars will shed on them their tear-drops of dew,
As they watch through the night’s stilly hours.
We will strew them in silence for our souls are opprest,
With an anguish too deep to be spoken,
Which can only be told by a sob in the breast,
That speaks of a heart nearly broken.
Farewell, matchless chieftain!—kind Heaven will forgive
The rebellious spirit of sorrow,
As it whispers—’though dead, his example will live,
Growing brighter each coming to-morrow.’