Stanzas To The Memory Of L.E.L
And
thou
art
gone!
the
Bridal
Rose
Fresh
on
thy
laurelled
head;
A
land
of
new,
wild,
wondrous
scenes
Before
thy
fancy
spread-
Song
on
thy
lip.-It
may
not
be;-
I
scarce
believe
thee
dead!
"Bring
flowers,
pale
flowers!"-But
who
for
thee
An
offering
meet
can
bring?
Who
paint
thy
Muse,
like
Huma*
bright,
For
ever
on
the
wing?
Or
catch
the
tones
that
thrilled
the
soul,
Poured
from
thy
Lyre's
sweet
string?
They
say
thy
heart's
warm
buds
of
hope
Had
never
felt
a
blight;
That
'mid
gay
throngs,
in
brilliant
halls,
Thy
step
was
ever
light,
At
gatherings
round
the
social
hearth
None
wore
a
smile
more
bright.
And
yet,
upon
thy
world
of
song,
Dark
shadows
always
sleep;
The
beings
by
thy
fancy
formed,
Seemed
only
born
to
weep,-
Why
did
thy
Soul's
sweet
fountains
pour
A
tide
of
grief
so
deep?
Was
the
prophetic
shadow
cast
By
Afric's
land
of
gloom;
That
thus
thy
fancy
ever
linked
The
poison
with
the
bloom?
And
'mid
the
fairest
bowers
of
bliss
Still
reared
the
lonely
tomb?
In
vain
we
search
for
Thought's
deep
source,
Its
mysteries
none
can
tell;
We
only
know
thy
dreams
were
sad,
And
so
it
has
befell
That
Love's
bright
wreath
crowned
thee
for
Death!
-Dark
fate-and
yet
'tis
well:-
Ay,
well
for
thee;
thy
strength
had
failed
To
bear
the
Exile's
chain,
The
weary,
pining,
homesick
lot,
That
withers
heart
and
brain,-
And
He,
who
framed
thy
soul's
fine
pulse,
In
mercy
spared
the
pain.
And
while
we
mourn
a
Pleiad
lost
From
out
Mind's
lofty
sky,
A
Lyre
unstrung,
whose
"charméd
chords"
Breathed
strains
that
ne'er
can
die,
Give
us,
O
God,
the
faith
that
sees
The
Spirit's
Home
on
high.
Sweet
Minstrel
of
the
heart,
farewell;
How
many
grieve
for
thee!
What
kings
might
ne'er
command
is
thine,
Love's
tribute
from
the
Free:
The
flowery
earth,
the
starry
sky,
The
mourner's
tear,
the
lover's
sigh,
Enshrine
thy
memory.
And
this
is
fame!
The
glorious
meed
Is
thine
beyond
decay,
Landon
will
grace
the
Briton's
lore
Till
earth
shall
pass
away;
What
India's
wealth
were
poor
to
buy
Won
by
a
Woman's
lay!
Sarah Josepha Hale
Sarah Josepha Hale was born on October 24th, 1788 in Newport, New Hampshire. Her parents were strong advocates for education of both sexes. Therefore, Hale was taught well beyond the normal age for a woman. Later, she married a lawyer David Hale, who supported her in all scholarly endeavors. Sadly, her husband died after only nine years of marriage, leaving Hale a widow with five children. She turned to poetry as a form of income. Her most famous book, titled Poems for Our Children included a beloved story from her childhood. “Mary Had a Little Lamb” was instantly a popular nursey rhyme.