Why does her heart seem like to break, with feelings unexpress’d?
Why wanders she from room to room, with face so deadly pale?
And why so languid is her step, as though her strength would fail?
And yet, why sits upon her brow such resolution high?
What means that strange impressive look, seen in her moisten’d eye?
Why come the strangers there to gaze, who, weeping, turn away
Whene’er the mother stoops to kiss that lovely sleeping clay?
Why does the dog lie prostrate there, with such a mournful eye?
Why does the mother stoop to him, whene’er she passes by?
Why does he instant raise his head, with slow and solemn grace?