Give me my home on thy noble heart,—
Well have we loved, let us both depart!”—
And pale on the breast of the dead she lay,
The living cheek to the cheek of clay;
The living cheek!—oh! it was not vain,
That strife of the spirit to rend its chain;
She is there at rest in her place of pride,
In death how queen-like—a glorious bride!
Joy for the freed one!—she might not stay
When the crown had fallen from her life away;