Page:Poems Curwen.djvu/134

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126
the paris disaster.

Thy children wept for ours,
Whom the sea toss'd
Upon thy shores—the dead
By Ushant lost.

And we, remembering still
That thou didst show
Such tender pity in
Our hour of woe,

Are fain to comfort thee
In thy sad loss,
To help thy children bear
Their fiery cross.

And so this day for thee
Our tears are shed;
For England mourns with France
Over her dead.

The dead—that brilliant throng
Of yesterday—
Whose blackened ashes wait
Burial to-day.

Truly, our mortal life
Hangs on a breath,
And in the "midst of life
We are in Death."
·····
Without the glorious hope
Of life beyond,
How could we live and bear
Life's broken bond?