The stateliest tree may be felled to the ground,
And its branches unguarded, be scatter’d around.
Her household is broken—her father no more
Recounts to his children the bright days of yore;
’Tis broken and dreary—her fond mother lies
Encircled by earth, and watch’d o’er by the skies.
She sees the old grave-yard—each white gleaming tomb,
And the forms that are slumbering in darkness and gloom,
And a tear of remembrance, and sadden’d regret
She sheds for the homestead she ne’er can forget.