Would the clear waters gush, the sweet flowers bloom?
That more than one fond heart would homeless be,
When thou wert gone in silence to the tomb?
What didst dream of? when the rose-lip smiled,
And bade thee welcome to the social hearth,
Where voices low and sweet the hours beguiled—
Were they not dear, those fireside hours of mirth?
What didst thou hope for? with thy kindling eye,
And thoughtful brow, that wore the laurels well;
As thou wert climbing to the temple high,