Laid in this English ground A Spaniard slumbers sound. Well might the tender weep To think how he doth sleep -- Strangers on either hand -- So far from his own land. O! when the last Trump blow, May Christ ordain that so This friendless one arise Under his native skies. How bleak to wake, how dread a doom, To cry his sins so far from home! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE FAMILY by KATHERINE MANSFIELD ON LENDING A PUNCH BOWL by OLIVER WENDELL HOLMES TIMES GO BY TURNS by ROBERT SOUTHWELL GREENES FUNERALLS: SONNET 7 by RICHARD BARNFIELD THE WOLF AND SHEPHERDS; A FABLE by JAMES BEATTIE ASCENSION OF A CITY FOG by FRANCES COFFIN BOAZ |