’Twas done; the blazing pile is fired, the flames have wrapped her round;
The owlet shrieked, and circling flew with dull, foreboding sound;
Fate shuddered at the ghastly sight, and smiled a ghostly smile;
And fame and honor spread their wings above the funeral pile.
But, phœnix-like, her spirit rose from out the burning flame,
More beautiful and bright by far than in her days of fame.
Peace to her spirit! Let us give her memory to renown,
Nor on her faults or failings dwell, but draw the curtain down.
Clare S. McKinley.
