Lydia Sigourney, From "Funeral of Mazeen: The Last of the Royal Line of the Mohegan Nation" (1841):
‘Mid the trodden turf is an open grave,
And a funeral train where the wild flowers wave,
And a manly sleeper doth seek his bed
In the narrow house of the sacred dead,
Yet the soil hath scantily drank of the tear,
For the red-brow’d few are the mourners here.
They have
lower’d the prince to his resting spot,
The deep prayer hath swell’d, but they heed it not,
Their abject thoughts’mid his ashes grope,
And quench’d in their souls is the light of hope;
Know ye their pangs, who turn away
The vassal foot from a monarch’s clay?
