86 SONGOPTHEKOSE. 



Ail the soul forth flowing 



In that rich perfume, 

 All the proud life glowing 



In that radiant bloom, 

 Have they no place but here, beneath the o'er- 



shadowing tomb ? 

 Crown'st thou but the daughters 



Of our tearful race ? 

 Heaven's own purest waters 

 Well might bear the trace 

 Of thy consummate form, melting to softer grace. 

 Will that clime enfold thec 



With immortal air 

 Shall we not behold thee 



Bright and deathless there ? 

 In spirit-lustre clothed, transcendently more 



fair ? 

 Yes ! my fancy sees thee 



In that light disclose, 

 And its dream thus frees thee 



From the mist of woes, 



Darkening thine earthly bowers, O bridal, royal 

 rose. 



