The insults of the wretched throng she hears no longer now,
But Death, man’s universal friend, sits on her pallid brow!
In life, fear never blanched her cheek; but now ’tis calm and pale,
Love and her country asked revenge, and both her fate bewail;
She fell, more glorious in her fall than chief or crowned queen,
A martyr in a noble cause, without a fault to screen!
Clare S. McKinley.
THE LITTLE VOYAGER.
