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A Tribute

To the Memory of the Lamented Grace Aguilar

By Mrs. R. Hyneman

When the sad, moaning winds of midnight, sighing,
   Fall on the ear with a low, wailing tone,
And find an echo in the heart, replying
   To their wild music’s melancholy moan,
                        Then will we think of thee.

When the pale leaves of autumn’s woods are falling,
   Telling that such is man’s frail, brief career,
Our hearts will fancy thy sweet voice is calling
   From those sad relics of the dying year,
                        And tears will fall for thee.

<<438>>And when the first faint blossoms of the spring
   Shall rouse our spirits by their beauteous bloom,
Each little leaflet’s secret whispering
   Shall bear a message from the solemn tomb,
                        Bidding us think of thee.

Thy spirit loved to hold communion sweet
   With bud, and falling leaf, and midnight wind;
And each henceforth our chastened hearts shall greet
   As a loved token of thy gifted mind,
                        Thus will we think of thee.

Broken for ever is the golden bowl
   From which thy spirit drank its draught of life;
The silver cord is loosened from thy soul,
   And thou art free from earthly care and strife,
                        From sin and misery.

We cannot mourn for thee, as one whose lot
   Was but to bloom for a brief hour below,
Then sink into the grave and be forgot.
   The cold, unthinking world can never know
                        How much we mourn for thee.

Thou wert a stranger unto us; thy name
   Alone was wafted o’er the Atlantic wave,
But true hearts mourn’d thy loss when tidings came
   That thou wert in the cold and silent grave,
                        Ay, true hearts grieved for thee.

Rest, gentle minstrel! Other hands may wreathe
   A fairer garland on some future day;
But true and fervent are the thoughts that breathe
   Within our hearts, and prompt this simple lay,
                        That tells our grief for thee.

Philadelphia, Nov. 8th.