FUNERAL FLOWERS. 149 



<t c Why should I deplore thy early grave, 

 oh ! rny first-born ? When the newly fledged 

 bird first seeks his food, he finds many bitter 

 grains. Thou never felt the pangs of sorrow, 

 and thy heart was never polluted by the 

 poisonous breath of men. The rose that is 

 nipped in the bud, dies enclosed with all its 

 perfumes, like thee, my son, with all thy 

 innocence. Happy are those who die in 

 infancy ; they have never known the joys ^ 

 sorrows of a mother.' ' 



How touchingly expressed is this chastened 

 sorrow of the Indian matron : we cannot refrain 

 from giving, as a companion to her apostrophe, 

 the following beautiful epitaph on a child: 



" Here she lies, a pretty bud, 

 Lately made of flesh and blood ; 

 Who so soon fell fast asleep 

 As her little eyes did peep. 

 Give her streivinys, but not stir 

 The earth that lightly covers her." 



ROBERT HERRICK. 



In reference to the superstition, regarding the 

 supposed existence of the soul of a departed 



