O'er the grave in far communion, With the choral Seraphim, Chaunt in notes that hail reunion, Chaunt the Christian's funeral hymn;-- Singing Halleluiah--singing Halleluiah to the Three; Where, vain Death, oh where thy stinging? Where, O Grave, thy victory? So rests the child of creeds before the Greek's, 102 In our Lord's holy ground--between the walls Of the grey convent and the verdant creeks Of the sequester'd mere; afar the falls Of the fierce torrent from her native vale, Vex the calm wave, and groan upon the gale. Survives that remnant of old races still, 103 In its strange haven from the surge of Time? There yet do Camsee's songs at sunset thrill, At the same hour when here, the vesper chime Hymns the sweet Mother? Ah, can granite gate, Cataract, and Alp, exclude the steps of Fate? World-wearied man, thou knowest not on the earth 104 What regions lie beyond, yet near, thy ken! But couldst thou find them, where would be the worth? Life but repeats its triple tale to men. Three truths unite the children of the sod-- All love--all suffer--and all feel a God! By AEgle's grave the royal mourner sate, 105 And from his bended eyes the veiling hand Shut out the setting sun; thus, desolate, He sate, with Memory in her spirit-land, And took no heed of Lancelot's soothing words, Vain to the oak, bolt-shatter'd, sing the birds! Vain is their promise of returning spring! 106 Spring may give leaves, can spring reclose the core? Comfort not sorrow--sorrow's self must bring Its own stern cure!--All wisdom's holiest lore, The "KNOW THYSELF" descends from heaven in tears; The cloud must break before the horizon clears. The dove forsook not:--now its poised wing, 107 Bathed in the sunset, rested o'er the lake; Now brooded o'er the grave beside the King; Now with hush'd plumes, as if it fear'd to wake Sleep, less serene than Death's, it sought his breast, And o'er the heart of misery claim'd its nest. Night falls--the moon is at her full;--the mere 108 Shines with the sheen pellucid; not a breeze! And through the hush'd and argent atmosphere Sharp rise the summits of the breathless trees. When Lancelot saw, all indistinct and pale, Glide o'er the liquid glass a mistlike sail. Now, first from Arthur's dreams of fever gain'd, 109 And since (for grief unlocks the secret heart) Briefly confess'd, the triple toil ordain'd The knightly brother knew;--so with a start He strain'd the eyes, to which a fairy gave Vision of fairy forms, along the wave.