Fugitive to nobler air,

Dead avow thee who shall dare?

Freeborn spirit, eagle heart,

Full of life thou wert and art!

Tender was thy glance, and bland;

Honor swayed thy giving hand;

Sweet as fragrance on the sense

Stole thy rich intelligence,

And thy coming, like the spring,

Moved the saddest lips to sing.

Wealth above all argosies!

Sunshine of our drooping eyes!

Be to Heaven, for Heaven’s desert,

Tho’ the groping breezes moan

Here about thy burial-stone,

Never sorrow’s lightest breath

Links thy happy name with death,

Lest therein our love should be,

Thou that livest! false to thee.