ORATIONS AND IMPASSIONED PIECES. C 241 



E'en as the rose droops, when the voice 



Of autumn dooms it to decay. 

 Say what on earth could parallel 



A woe so withering ? 

 The royal mourner heard the tale 



In silent agony ; 



He could not speak, he could not weep, 

 His grief was far too wild and deep, 



Too great his misery j 

 One only sigh escaped his breast 

 Oh, SUCH a sigh ! as it would fain 

 The vital fibres rend in twain, 

 Aud free him from life's galling chain, 

 And give his spirit rest ! 



The monarch sat, with his crown and robes. 



In a splendid chair of state ; 

 And laurel'd knight, and jewel'd dame, 



His kingly notice wait : 

 But ah ! with a cold and careless eye 

 He gazed on the gorgeous pageantry : 

 For what could homage or splendour bring 

 The heart which grief was withering ! 

 His spirit had sunk in that ruthless wave 

 Where his bosom's joy had found a grave. 



In vain the minstrel swept his harp. 



To wake its thrilling strain ; 

 For nothing now could delight inspire 

 In the aching breast of the mourning sire, 

 " He never smiled again ." 



