Cheered by the voice you would have raised on high,
In bursts of British love and loyalty.
But, Britain! now thy chief, thy people mourn,
And Claremont’s home of love is left forlorn:—
There, where the happiest of the happy dwelt,
The ’scutcheon glooms, and royalty hath felt
A wound that every bosom feels its own,—
The blessing of a father’s heart o’erthrown—
The most beloved and most devoted bride
Torn from an agonizèd husband’s side,