Classic Poem

Sound a lament in the halls of his father
Waken the harp-string & pour forth a wail
The caves of the hill the sad echoes will gather
The chant will be sung by the wandering gale
Damp lies his corpse in the folds of the shroud
& low to the dust his bright forehead is bowed

Weep in thy chambers where music is sighing
Weep in thy palace fair bride of his heart
Thy love with the worms of corruption is lying
Thou from his bosom for ever must part
For ever, For ever, how sad is that word
When by the lone grave of the buried 'tis heard

Shake from thy tresses the flower-wreath of gladness
Scatter its bloom to the winds of the sky
Cover thy brow with a mantle of sadness
Weep for thy moment of mourning draws nigh
And leave that bright robe of the youthful & gay
For the grief-darkened weeds, of a widow's array

But longer & louder uplift a shrill wail
For the parent of him who sleeps low with the dead
His eye shall grow dim & his cheek shall turn pale
And the plumes shall droop low on that proud warrior's head
When he treads the lone isle of the desolate shore
When he fears that his loved one, his son is no more

He fell not in battle, he fell not in war
Where conquest & carnage have followed his might
No, suddenly, silently vanished his star
At noonday fell on him the darkness of night
A murderer's voice bade his spirit depart
The hand of a traitor brought death to his heart

O! why was the morn of his young being clouded
By darkness so solemn, by horror so deep
And why was that fair form all fettered & shrouded
So early laid down for its long dreamless sleep
What hand can dispel that dense shadowy gloom
Which hides from our vision that volume of doom