THE GRAVES OF A HOUSEHOLD 
  They grew in beauty, side by side,     They filled one home with glee;   Their graves are severed far and wide,     By mount, and stream, and sea.
  The same fond mother bent at night     O'er each fair, sleeping brow;   She had each folded flower in sight:
    Where are those sleepers now?
  One, midst the forest of the West,     By a dark stream is laid;   The Indian knows his place of rest,     Far in the cedar shade.
  The sea, the blue, lone sea, hath one;     He lies where pearls lie deep;   He was the loved of all, yet none     O'er his low bed may weep.
  One sleeps where southern vines are dressed     Above the noble slain;   He wrapped the colors round his breast     On a blood-red field of Spain.
  And one o'er her the myrtle showers     Its leaves by soft winds fanned;   She faded midst Italian flowers 
    The last of that fair band.
  And parted thus, they rest who played     Beneath the same green tree;   Whose voices mingled as they prayed     Around one parent knee.
  They that with smiles lit up the hall,     And cheered with song the hearth;   Alas for love! if thou wert all,     And naught beyond, O earth!
FELICIA DOROTHEA HEMANS