Whose carriage, drawn by sable span,
Stops at the long deserted home?
It is his dear ones who have come,--
The daughters of a noble man;--
And she whose life was one with his,--
Whose love transcends the bounds of death,--
Comes with a rose-boquet’s sweet breath,
To greet his mem’ry with a kiss.
The heavens weep, and true hearts weep,
And in the house is evening-gloom,
They stand together in the room,
Where he this hour did fall asleep.
Then pass into the world again,
From sorrow’s holy sacrament;--
To one, who lingered near, it lent,
Abiding greetings from his friend.