Some that I loved, and gasp'd to speak to;

Some but a day in their churchyard bed;

Some that I had not known were dead.

[11]

A long, long crowd—where each seem'd lonely,

Yet of them all there was one, one only,

Raised a head or look'd my way:

She linger'd a moment—she might not stay.

How long since I saw that fair pale face!

Ah! Mother dear! might I only place

My head on thy breast, a moment to rest,

While thy hand on my tearful cheek were prest!

On, on, a moving bridge they made

Across the moon-stream, from shade to shade,

Young and old, women and men;

Many long-forgot, but remember'd then.

And first there came a bitter laughter;

A sound of tears the moment after;

And then a music so lofty and gay,

That every morning, day by day,

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