The bright lamp broken, which the gifted hand
Touch’d, and the genii came! Sing reverently
The funeral chant! The mighty is borne home,
And who shall be his mourners? Youth and age,
For each hath felt his magic—love and grief,
For he hath communed with the heart of each:
Yes—the free spirit of humanity
May join the august procession, for to him
Its mysteries have been tributary things,
And all its accents known. From field or wave,