Memoirs of Anne C.L. Botta,: written by her friends. With selections from her correspondence and from her writings in prose and poetry.

itnne C. Z. cotta
The men of human destiny,
Whom glorious dreams inspire;
High-priests of Freedom, in whose souls
Is shrined the sacred fire.
The fire that through the wilderness,
In steadfast luster gleams,
That on the future dim and dark,
Sheds its effulgent beams.
Thus, O Hungaria! through the night
That wraps thee in its gloom,
Light from one burning soul streams forth,
A torch above thy tomb.
Thy tomb! oh no -the moldering shroud
The worm awhile must wear,
Ere, from its confines springing forth,
He wings the upper air.
Thy tomb! then from its door ere long,
The stone shall roll away;
Thou shalt come forth, and once again
Greet the new-risen day.
That day, that prayed and waited for
So long, shall surely rise,
As surely as to-morrow's sun
Again shall greet our eyes.
What though, before the shade evoked,
The coward heart has quailed,
And when the hour, the moment came,
The recreant arm has failed?
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