Waft the moist fragrance of the weeping rose.
O'er that dread spot, the melancholy Moon
Shall pause a while, a sadder beam to shed,
And starry Night, amidst her awful noon,
Sprinkle light dews upon his hallow'd head.
There too the solitary Bird shall swell
With long-drawn melody her plaintive throat,
While distant echo from responsive cell,
Shall oft with fading force return the note.
Such recompense be Valour's due alone!