One morning death closed his eyelids; and the good father went to take another place in the tomb by the side of his son.
Jasmin dedicated this poem to Lamartine, who answered his dedication as follows:-- "Paris, 28th April, 1849.
"My dear brother,--I am proud to read my name in the language which you have made classic; more proud still of the beautiful verses in which you embalm the recollection of our three months of struggle with the demagogues against our true republic.

Poets entertain living presentiments of posterity.

I accept your omen.

Your poem has made us weep.

You are the only epic writer of our time, the sensible and pathetic Homer of the people (proletaires).
"Others sing, but you feel.