And with submissive love to count the flowers Familiar names, in accents wild, yet soft, To strangers round that bed, who knew not aught power, Something that faints pot thro' the day's distress, Into her mother's face, and wakening knew The brow's calm grace, the hair's dear silvery hue, THE QUEEN OF PRUSSIA'S TOMB. "This tomb is in the garden of Charlottenburgh, near Berlin. It was not without surprise that I came suddenly, among trees, upon a fair white Doric temple. I might, and should have deemed it a mere adornment of the grounds, but the cypress and the willow declare it a habitation of the dead. Upon a sarcophagus of white marble lay a sheet, and the outline of the human form was plainly visible beneath its folds. The person with me reverently turned it back, and displayed the statue of his Queen. It is a portrait-statue recumbent, said to be a perfect resemblance-not as in death, but when she lived to bless and be blessed. Nothing can be more calm and kind than the expression of her features. The hands are folded on the bosom; the limbs are sufficiently crossed to show the repose of life.--Here the King brings her children annually, to offer garlands at her grave. These hang in withered mournfulness above this living image of their departed mother."-SHERER's Notes and Reflections during a Ramble in Germany. THE QUEEN OF PRUSSIA'S TOMB. In sweet pride upon that insult keen She smiled; then drooping mute and broken-hearted, IT stands where northern willows weep, A temple fair and lone ; Soft shadows o'er its marble sweep, From cypress-branches thrown; While silently around it spread, Thou feel'st the presence of the dead. MILMAN. And what within is richly shrined? A sculptur'd woman's form, Lovely in perfect rest reclined, As one beyond the storm: Yet not of death, but slumber, lies 'The solemn sweetness on those eyes. The folded hands, the calm pure face, The mantle's quiet flow, The gentle, yet majestic grace, Throned on the matron brow; These, in that scene of tender gloom, With a still glory robe the tomb. There stands an eagle, at the feet A kingly emblem-nor unmeet To wake yet deeper thought: She whose high heart finds rest below, Was royal in her birth and wo. |