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BURIAL OF HERNANDO DE SOTO.
Why came he here, like an exiled man,
To rest in an exile's grave?
A lovelier and more famous land
Was his beyond the wave.
Perchance the shores that he loved the best
Shall never sound his name,
Yet the kingly realm of the mighty West
Will guard and preserve his fame.
To rest in an exile's grave?
A lovelier and more famous land
Was his beyond the wave.
Perchance the shores that he loved the best
Shall never sound his name,
Yet the kingly realm of the mighty West
Will guard and preserve his fame.
A sound of sorrow, a stifled sigh
Came up from the rolling wave;
Like the tearful cry when the mighty die,
It burst from his opening grave.
For the death of the brave, that funeral strain
Uttered its tones of grief;
Yet woke it not his slumbering train.
To weep for their fallen chief.
Came up from the rolling wave;
Like the tearful cry when the mighty die,
It burst from his opening grave.
For the death of the brave, that funeral strain
Uttered its tones of grief;
Yet woke it not his slumbering train.
To weep for their fallen chief.
They buried him there, where a thousand lights
Looked down on his tranquil breast;
The night wept tears o'er his funeral rites,—
Stars lighted his place of rest.
The dark Mississippi's turbid tide
Over his bones shall flow,
And where these lie in its channel wide,
No man shall ever know.
Looked down on his tranquil breast;
The night wept tears o'er his funeral rites,—
Stars lighted his place of rest.
The dark Mississippi's turbid tide
Over his bones shall flow,
And where these lie in its channel wide,
No man shall ever know.
They sunk him beneath the cold, dark wave,—
With his glory clothed and crowned;
A royaller grave he could not crave,
Than that which he sought and found.
With his glory clothed and crowned;
A royaller grave he could not crave,
Than that which he sought and found.
