THE sun sank down behind the gold-flower’d hill;
The warriors from the fight approach the shore:
There stood young George’s wife, serene and still:
She counted all the heroes o’er and o’er,
And found not those she loved—though they were three:—
Her husband, George; her marriage friend, another,
Who late had led the marriage revelry;
The third, her best-beloved, her only brother.
Her husband, he was dead; she rent her hair
For him.—Her friend was gone,—for him she tore
Her cheeks.—Her only brother was not there:
For him she pluck’d her eye-balls from their bed.
Her hair grew forth as lovely as before;
Upon her cheeks her former beauties spread;
But nothing could her perish’d sight restore:
Nought heals the heart that mourns a brother dead.