Page:The Forest Sanctuary.pdf/155

    On the settled face of death
    A strong and ruddy glare,
Though dimm'd at times by the censer's breath,
    Yet it fell still brightest there:
As if each deeply-furrow'd trace
    Of earthly years to show,—
—Alas! that sceptred mortal's race
    Had surely clos'd in woe!

    The marble floor was swept
    By many a long dark stole,
As the kneeling priests round him that slept,
    Sang mass for the parted soul;
And solemn were the strains they pour'd
    Through the stillness of the night,
With the cross above, and the crown and sword,
    And the silent king in sight.

    There was heard a heavy clang,
    As of steel-girt men the tread,
And the tombs and the hollow pavement rang
    With a sounding thrill of dread;