Still onward, solemnly and slow, And speaking not a word, they go, Till pausing in their way before Mazelli's quiet cottage door, They gently lay their burden down. Whence comes that shriek of wild despair That rises wildly on the air？ Whose is the arm so fondly thrown Around the cold, unconscious clay, That cannot its caress repay？

    Such wordless wo was in that cry, Such pain, such hopeless agony, No soul, excluded from the sky, Whom unrelenting justice hath Condemned to bear the second death, E'er breathed upon the troubled gale A wilder or a sadder wail；—— It rose, all other sounds above, The dirge of peace, and hope, and love！