Of that sweet land are floating o’er their brain—
Oh! what a crowded world one moment may contain!
LX.
Such moments come to thousands!—few may die
Amidst their native shades. The young, the brave,
The beautiful, whose gladdening voice and eye
Made summer in a parent’s heart, and gave
Light to their peopled homes; o’er land and wave
Are scatter’d fast and far, as rose-leaves fall
From the deserted stem. They find a grave