A LONELY grave hard by the prison wall, No loving hand to lay a simple flower, No heart-wrung tear upon the sod may fall That shrouds the victim of a tyrant's power. Yet all the world in spirit kneels and weeps, And fragrant blooms of sympathy are spread Dewy with tears, for her who lowly sleeps 'Neath alien skies till God shall wake His dead. She would not stoop to lie. Her fleeting breath Was spent for Truth in sacrifice complete, Noble in life, but nobler far in Death Whose darkness gathered thick about her feet. But not in vain she died: the pale cold hand Has lit in every heart a torch of flame; Has forged for manhood's arm a keener brand For us to wield in Justice's sacred name. Her gentle soul forgave the bitter wrong. Implacate, Justice claims her lawful meed Thro' us who love her, for that lonely grave, Else Britain's honour were a broken reed. Farewell, great soul, for you the sombre glade Held nought of terror; 'twas a dreamless night Whose morn should rise triumphant, and the shade Of earth and sorrow pale before its light. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...SURFACE AND STRUCTURE: BONAVENTURE HOTEL, LOS ANGELES by KAREN SWENSON RESOLUTION OF DEPENDENCE by GEORGE BARKER TO FLUSH, MY DOG by ELIZABETH BARRETT BROWNING MAY AND DEATH by ROBERT BROWNING ON DONNE'S POETRY by SAMUEL TAYLOR COLERIDGE CINQUAIN: THE WARNING by ADELAIDE CRAPSEY THE QUANGLE WANGLE'S HAT by EDWARD LEAR LITTLE BOATIE'; A SLUMBER SONG FOR THE FISHERMAN'S CHILD by HENRY VAN DYKE |