She died, thus much I dared to say.
And Ila sleeps within the wave,
And round her peaceful ocean-tomb
The pale flowers of the coral-grave
In all their quiet beauty bloom.
Sleep on! sleep on in that deep rest—
Thou of the stainless brow and breast,—
Oh! holy as the stars that shine
In all their seraph splendor set,
Like torches of a templed-shrine