The Tomb of the Conqueror

Where the catalpa's arches cast their shade,
Where the black tulip tree white-petaled blows,
He finds not in the fatal earth repose;
Through vanquished Florida he passed unstayed.

For such as he no paltry tomb be made;
For shroud, the Western India's conqueror shows
The Mississippi which above him flows.
Nor Redskins nor gray bears his rest invade.

He sleeps where virgin waters carved his couch;
What matters monument, the taper's vouch,
The psalm, the chapel and the offering?

Since northen winds, amid the cypress' sighs,
Eternal supplications weep and sing
O'er the Great River where de Soto lies.