Shall shed the sympathizing tear; 

 Hopeless and childless shalt thou die, 

 And none shall mourn above thy bier. 

 Thy race extinct; no more thy name 

 Shall proudly swell the lists of fame. 

 Thou art the last! with thee shall die 

 Thy proud descent and lineage high; 

 No more on Barden's hills shall swell 

 The mirth inspiring bugle note; 

 No more o'er mountain, vale and, dell, 

 Its well known sounds shall wildly float. 

 Other sounds shall steal along, 

 Other music swell the song; 

 The deep funeral wail of wo, 

 In solemn cadence, now shall spread 

 Its strains of sorrow, sad and slow, 

 In requiem dirges for the dead. 

 Why has the Lady left her home, 

 And quitted every earthly care, 

 And sought, in deep monastic gloom, 

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