Page:Pleasant Memories.pdf/229

Lifts its full clusters, of a paler green,
Loved for the simple vintage.
                                            Many a tale
Of interest and sympathy is rife
Among the humble harvesters of Kent;
And one I heard, which I remember still.
In a lone hamlet, the narrator said,
I saw a funeral. Round the open grave
Gathered a band of thoughtful villagers,
While pressing nearest to its shelving brink,
A slender boy of some few summers stood,
Sole mourner, with a wild and wishful eye
Fixed on the coffin. When they let it down
Into the darksome pit, and the coarse earth
From the grave-digger's shovel falling gave
A hollow sound, there rose such bitter wail,
Prolonged and deep, as I had never heard
Come from a child.
                         Then he, who gave with prayers
The body to the dust, when the last rite
Was over, turned with sympathizing look,
And said;
          "Poor boy, your mother will not sleep
In this cold bed forever. No!—as sure
As the sweet flowers, which now the frost hath chilled,
Shall hear the call of spring, and the dry grass
Put on fresh greenness, she shall rise again,
And live a life of joy."