PLANTING FLOWERS ON THE GRAVE OF PARENTS.
I've set the flow'rets where ye sleep,
Father and mother dear,
Their roots are in the mould so deep,
Their bosoms bear a tear;
The tear-drop of the dewy morn
Their trembling casket fills,
Mix'd with that essence from the heart
Which filial love distils.
Above thy pillow, mother dear,
I've placed thy favourite flower,
The bright-eyed purple violet,
That deck'd thy summer-bower;
The fragrant chamomile, that spreads
Its verdure fresh and green,
And richly broiders every niche
The velvet turf between.
I kiss'd the tender violet
That droop'd its stranger-head,
And call'd it blessed thus to grow
So near my precious dead;
And when my venturous path shall be
Across the deep blue sea,
I bade it in its beauty rise,
And guard that spot for me.
