That the loss of her loved ones should grieve and distress her;
Or that, like Rachel of old, with her desolate lot,
She refuses all comfort because they are not:
She weeps for the thousands led out to the slaughter,
Whose life-blood hath flowed as a fountain of water.
"What tho' the base cohorts of treason are routed?
"What tho' the false claims of disunion are scouted?
"My brothers, my kinsmen, oh, where have they fled?"
Thus the maiden forlorn vents her grief for the dead.
Lift thy head, thou fair Goddess of Liberty! See!