88 DKOrS PROM FLORA'S CUP. 
On a Leaf from the Tomb of Virgil. 
MRS. HEMANS. 
And was thy home, pale, ■withered thing, 
Beneath the rich blue southern sky ? 
Wert thou a nursling of the spring, 
The winds and suns of glorious Italy ? 
Those suns in golden light e’en now, 
Look o’er the poet’s lovely grave, 
Those winds are breathing sqft, but thou, 
Answering their whisper, there no more shalt 
wave. 
The flowers, o’er Posilippo’s brow, 
May cluster in their purple bloom, 
But on the o’ershadowing ilex-bough, 
Thy breezy place is void by Virgil’s tomb. 
Thy place is void; oh 1 none on earth, 
This crowded earth, may so remain, 
Save that which souls of loftiest birth 
Leave, when they part their brighter home to gain. 
Another leaf, ere now, hath sprung 
On the green stem which once was thine; 
When shall another strain be sung 
Like his whose dust hath made that spot a shrine ? 
