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-browd few are the mourners here.
lowerd the prince to his resting spot,
The deep prayer hath swelld, but they heed it not,
Their abject thoughtsmid his ashes grope,
And quenchd in their souls is the light of hope;
Know ye their pangs, who turn away
The vassal foot from a monarchs clay?