Glancing in play o’er that proud lip erewhile,
And the dark locks, whose breezy waving threw
A gladness round, whene’er their shade withdrew
From the bright brow; and all the sweetness lying
Within that eagle eye’s jet radiance deep,
And all the music with that young voice dying,
Whose joyous echoes made the quick heart leap
As at a hunter’s bugle—these things lived
Still in one breast, whose silent love survived
The pomps of kindred sorrow. Day by day,