Soil the bright paleness of the settled brow,

Look on your brother; and embrace him now,

In still and solemn trust!

Come near!—once more let kindred lips be press’d

On his cold cheek; then bear him to his rest!

Look yet on this young face!

What shall the beauty, from amongst us gone,

Leave of its image, even where most it shone,

Gladdening its hearth and race?

Dim grows the semblance on man’s heart impress’d.