Will then, Duperrier, thy sorrow be eternal?
       &nbsp And shall the sad discourse
Whispered within thy heart, by tenderness paternal,
       &nbsp Only augment its force?

Thy daughter's mournful fate, into the tomb descending
       &nbsp By death's frequented ways,
Has it become to thee a labyrinth never ending,
       &nbsp Where thy lost reason strays?

I know the charms that made her youth a benediction:
       &nbsp Nor should I be content,
As a censorious friend, to solace thine affliction
       &nbsp By her disparagement.

But she was of the world, which fairest things exposes
       &nbsp To fates the most forlorn;
A rose, she too hath lived as long as live the roses,
       &nbsp The space of one brief morn.

* * * * *

Death has his rigorous laws, unparalleled, unfeeling;
       &nbsp All prayers to him are vain;
Cruel, he stops his ears, and, deaf to our appealing,
       &nbsp He leaves us to complain.
The poor man in his hut, with only thatch for cover,
       &nbsp Unto these laws must bend;
The sentinel that guards the barriers of the Louvre
       &nbsp Cannot our kings defend.

To murmur against death, in petulant defiance,
       &nbsp Is never for the best;
To will what God doth will, that is the only science
       &nbsp That gives us any rest.