If I had thought thou couldst have died

Yet there was round thee such a dawn Of light, ne’er seen before, As fancy never could have drawn, And never can restore.

Slowly and sadly we laid him down, From the field of his fame fresh and gory; We carved not a line, and we raised not a stone, But we left him alone with his glory.

But he lay like a warrior taking his rest, With his martial cloak around him.

Not a drum was heard, not a funeral note, As his corse to the rampart we hurried.

Go, forget me! why should sorrow O’er that brow a shadow fling? Go, forget me, and to-morrow Brightly smile and sweetly sing! Smile,—though I shall not be near thee; Sing,—though I shall never hear thee!

But see! the pains begin to fly; Tho’ Venus bled she could not die: See the new phœnix point her eyes, And lovelier from her ashes rise.