But the cloud pass'd over lightly.
"Cease!" he cried, but sniffled slightly,
"Cease this murmur and be quiet—
Dead men won't awake with riot.
Tis indeed a loss stupendous—
When will Heaven his equal send us?
Speak, then, of our brother cherish'd,
Was it fits by which he perish'd?
Or did Death come even quicker,
Thro' a bolting horse or kicker?"