86 SONaOFTHEKOSE. 
All 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 thee 
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. 
