“Vain dream! that tomb in distant earth
Shall rise, forsaken and forgot;
And thou, sweet land that gavest me birth!
A grave must yield me not.
Yet, haply, he for whom I leave
Thy shores, in life’s dark winter eve,
When cold the hand, and closed the lays,
And mute the voice he loved to praise,
O’er the hush’d harp one tear may shed,
And one frail garland o’er the minstrel’s bed!”