"Gibraltar. Scene During the Plague" by Letitia Elizabeth Landon (1836)

At first, I only buried one,
    And she was borne along
By kindred mourners to her grave,
    With sacred rite and song.
At first they sent for me to pray
    Beside the bed of death:
They blessed their household, and they breathed
    Prayer in their latest breath.
But then men died more rapidly—
    They had not time to pray;
And from the pillow love had smoothed
    Fear fled in haste away.
And then there came the fastened door—
    Then came the guarded street—
Friends in the distance watched for friends;
    Watched,—that they might not meet.
And Terror by the hearth stood cold,
    And rent all natural ties,
And men, upon the bed of death,
    Met only stranger eyes:
The nurse—and guard, stern, harsh, and wan
    Remained, unpitying, by;
They had known so much wretchedness,
    They did not fear to die.
Heavily rung the old church bells,
    But no one came to prayer:
The weeds were growing in the street,
    Silence and Fate were there.
O’er the first grave by which I stood,
    Tears fell, and flowers were thrown,
The last grave held six hundred lives,*
    And there I stood alone.