ROSEMARY. 137 



principle at funerals ; on which latter occa- 

 sion, in some parts of England, it is still dis- 

 tributed among the company, who generally 

 throw the sprigs into the grave with the 

 corpse. We noticed that it was frequently 

 planted on the romantic graves of Pere La 

 Chaise, where it forcibly called to our minds 

 these lines of Kirk White's : 



" Sweet-scented flower! who art wont to bloom 



On January's front severe, 



And o'er the wintry desert drear 

 To waft thy waste perfume ! 

 Come, thou shalt form my nosegay now, 

 And I will bind thee round my brow ; 



And, as I twine thy mournful wreath, 

 I '11 weave a melancholy song, 

 And sweet the strain shall be, and long, 



The melody of Death. 



Come, funeral flower ! who lov'st to dwell 

 With the pale corse in lonely tomb, 

 And throw across the desert gloom 



A sweet decaying smell: 

 Come, press my lips, and lie with me 

 Beneath the lowly alder tree ; 



And we will sleep a pleasant sleep, 

 And not a care shall dare intrude, 

 To break the marble solitude, 



So peaceful and so deep. 

 And hark ! the windyad, as he flies. 



Moans hollow in the forest trees. 



And sailing on the gusty breeze 

 Mysterious music dies. 



