I.
It was a quiet morning. Skies were clear,
And hills, and vales, and woods kept jubilee;
All nature seem’d a lovely smile to wear,
A smile of peace and joy. In ecstasy
Bright plumaged warblers flew from tree to tree,
And sang their joy with many a cheerful tone;
But every heart was not so full of glee;
Within that room where death his power had shown,
A pensive mourner sat, in silence, and alone.