The mother's pulse through every vein return'd;
Then, as she halted on this hill, she threw
Her mantle wide, and loose her tresses flew.
"Live!" to the slain she cried: "My children live!
This for an heritage to you I give;
Had Death consumed you by the common lot
Ye, with the multitude, had been forgot;
Now through an age of ages ye shall not."
Thus Nature spake;—and as her echo, I
Take up her parable, and prophesy: