Part 2 — CLVIII

They grew in beauty side by side, They fill'd one home with glee;— Their graves are sever'd 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 dreamers now? One, midst the forests 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 drest Above the noble slain: He wrapt his colours round his breast, On a blood-red field of Spain. And one—o'er her the myrtle showers Its leaves, by soft winds fann'd; She faded midst Italian flowers, The last of that bright band. And parted thus they rest who play'd Beneath the same green tree; Whose voices mingled as they pray'd Around one parent knee; They that with smiles lit up the hall, And cheer'd with song the hearth!— Alas for love! if thou wert all, And naught beyond, O, Earth!