In those pure aspects may no more be read,
Thence, too, hath sorrow melted—and the tears
Which o’er their mother’s holy dust they shed,
Are all effaced. There earth hath left no sign
Save its deep love, still touching every line.
But oh! more soft, more tender—breathing more
A thought of pity, than in vanish’d days!
While, hovering silently and brightly o’er
The lone one’s head, they meet her spirit’s gaze
With their immortal eyes, that seem to say,