Classic Poem

FROM SIMONIDES .

This turf lies on a woman's breast,
Shrouded in deep and peaceful rest;
The scion of a royal tree,
Mother, and wife of kings, was she;
Yet, though to these high names allied,
Her gentle spirit knew not pride.

SONNET .

Her father was a man of violent mood,
Hated — and hating many. — Restless fear
Alternately, and burning anger glowed
Beneath his heart — and death seemed ever near,
Such multitudes were thirsting for his blood.
But she was young, and beautiful, and mild
As is the morning star — in their own clime,
Taught by her natural love, though yet a child,
She sung to him, and smiled his cares away:
Thus did she ever in her maiden prime,
And when his head in foreign lands was grey,
She soothed him still with love that grew not dull,
And stood before him, striving to be gay,
With pleading eyes, divinely beautiful!