The Two Coffins

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In yonder old cathedral
  Two lovely coffins lie;
In one, the head of the state lies dead,
  And a singer sleeps hard by.

Once had that King great power
  And proudly ruled the land--
His crown e'en now is on his brow
  And his sword is in his hand.

How sweetly sleeps the singer
  With calmly folded eyes,
And on the breast of the bard at rest
  The harp that he sounded lies.

The castle walls are falling
  And war distracts the land,
But the sword leaps not from that mildewed spot
  There in that dead king's hand.

But with every grace of nature
  There seems to float along--
To cheer again the hearts of men
  The singer's deathless song.

© Eugene Field