LX.

Such moments come to thousands!--few may die Amidst their native shades. The young, the brave, The beautiful, whose gladdening voice and eye Made summer in a parent’s heart, and gave Light to their peopled homes; o’er land and wave Are scatter’d fast and far, as rose-leaves fall From the deserted stem. They find a grave Far from the shadow of th’ ancestral hall, A lonely bed is theirs, whose smiles were hope to all!