FUNERAL OF A NEIGHBOUR.
Ah! can that funeral knell be thine,
Thou, at whose image kind
So many long-remember'd scenes
Come rushing o'er my mind?
Thy rural home behind the trees,
Thy bowers with roses dress'd,
And the bright eye and beaming smile,
That cheer'd each entering guest.
There, when our children, hand in hand,
Pursued their earnest play,
It drew our hearts more closely still,
To see their own so gay,
And hear their merry laughter ring
Around the evening hearth,
While the loud threat of winter's storm
Broke not their hour of mirth.
'Tis strange that I should seek in vain
That mansion, once so fair,
And find the spot where erst it stood
All desolate and bare;
Its smooth green bank, on which so thick
The dappled daisies grew—
How passing strange, that from its place
Even that has vanish'd too.
