Laid in this English ground A Spaniard slumbers sound. Well might the tender weep To think how he doth sleep -- Strangers on either hand -- So far from his own land. O! when the last Trump blow, May Christ ordain that so This friendless one arise Under his native skies. How bleak to wake, how dread a doom, To cry his sins so far from home! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE MYSTIC'S VISION by MATHILDE BLIND THE RUBAIYAT, 1879 EDITION: 21 by OMAR KHAYYAM TO A CHILD OF QUALITY, FIVE YEARS OLD. THE AUTHOR THAN FORTY by MATTHEW PRIOR UNDERNEATH THE BOUGH by FRANKLIN PIERCE ADAMS THE TOOTHPICK by GHALIB IBN RIBAH AL-HAJJAM EMERSON by AMOS BRONSON ALCOTT CHORUS FROM A TRAGEDY by LEONARD BACON (1887-1954) SONNETS OF MANHOOD: 20. 'SONG IS NOT DEAD' by GEORGE BARLOW (1847-1913) |