Tones in her quivering voice awoke,
As if a harp of battle spoke;
Light, that seem’d born of an eagle’s nest,
Flash’d from her soft eyes unrepress’d;
And her form, like a spreading water-flower,
When its frail cup swells with a sudden shower,
Seem’d all dilated with love and pride,
And grief for that brother, her young heart’s guide.
Well might they love!—those two had grown
Orphans together and alone: