On the glad strain, with dread solemnity!
If the land’s rose unheeded wore its bloom,
Alike unfelt the storm that swept it to the tomb.
And she who, tried through all the stormy past—
Severely, deeply proved, in many an hour—
Watch’d o’er thee, firm and faithful to the last,
Sustain’d, inspired, by strong affection’s power;
If to thy soul her voice no music bore—
If thy closed eye and wandering spirit caught
No light from looks, that fondly would explore