Still thine own its life retaineth

Still must mine, though bleeding, beat;
And the undying thought which paineth
Is that we no more may meet.

These are words of deeper sorrow
Than the wail above the dead;

Both shall live, but every morrow
Wake us from a widowed bed.

And when thou wouldst solace gather,
When our child's first accents flow,

Wilt thou teach her to say "Father!"
Though his care she must forego?

When her little hands shall press thee,

When her lip to thine is prest,

Think of him whose prayer shall bless thee,

Think of him thy love had bless'd!

Should her lineaments resemble

Those thou never more may'st see,

Then thy heart will softly tremble
With a pulse yet true to me.

All my faults perchance thou knowest,
All my madness none can know;

All my hopes, where'er thou goest,

Wither-yet with thee they go.

Every feeling hath been shaken;

Pride, which not a world could bow,

Bows to thee-by thee forsaken,

Even my soul forsakes me now:

But 'tis done all words are idle

Words from me are vainer still;

But the thoughts we cannot bridle

Force their way without the will.—

Fare thee well!-thus disunited,

Torn from every nearer tie,

Seared in heart, and lone, and blighted

More than this I scarce can die.

With a strong and growing motion

It soars, and mingles in the air,

With that of lost LABEDOYERE—

With that of him whose honoured grave

Contains the "bravest of the brave."

A crimson cloud it spreads and glows,

But shall return to whence it rose ;

When 'tis full 'twill burst asunder

Never yet was heard such thunder

As then shall shake the world with wonder

Never yet was seen such lightning,

As o'er heaven shall then be bright'ning!

Like the Wormwood Star foretold

By the sainted Seer of old,

Show'ring down a fiery flood,

Turning rivers into blood. 1

II.

The Chief has fallen, but not by you,

Vanquishers of Waterloo!