XI: To Miss Adelaide Kemble,

If Time has doom'd the triumphs of thy race
With loss of thee--the youngest and the last--
To take majestic station in the Past,
We thank thee that thy fleeting hours embrace
Some hint of all its glories;--bid us trace
In thy proud action the unconquer'd will
Of the great Roman; own once more a thrill
Akin to that which blanch'd the childish face
At Siddons' whisper; bless the honest grace
Which the true heart of chivalry should still
Shed o'er thy father's brow;--consoled that all,
Thus waning into memory, grow more sweet,
And make their last expressions musical,
To live while any heart they hush shall beat.