And shield their blossoms from the touch of death,
Surrey!—thy fate was wept by countless eyes,
A nation's woe assailed the pitying skies,
When thy pure spirit left this scene of strife,
And soared to him who breathed it into life:
Thy funeral knell pealed o'er the world!—thy fall
Was mourned by hearts that loved thee, mourned by all—
All, save thy murderers!—thou hast won thy crown:
And thou, fair Framlinghame! a bright renown,
Yes! thy rich temple holds the stately tomb,