While on her features fell the struggling tear Perchance the glossy ringlet, which the sea Yielded to our deep search, was one that roll'd O'er that loved form, but this soft mystery Nor breeze nor breaking wave will e'er unfold; Still shall this relic, to my latest day, Near to my heart in fond endearment lay. And when the last great trump shall thrill the grave, And earth's unnumbered myriads reappear, She too will hear the summons 'neath the wave, That now in silence wraps her sunless bier; And coming forth, in timid meekness bowed, Unfold the tongueless secrets of her shroud. |