HENRY KIRKE WHITE. 



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From his meridian height, endeavours vainly 

 To pierce the shadowy foliage, while the zephyr 

 Comes wafting gently o'er the rippling Trent, 

 And plays about my wan cheek. 'Tis a nook 

 Most pleasant. — Such a one perchance did Gray 

 Frequent, as with the vagrant muse he wautou'd. 

 Come, I will set me down and meditate. 

 For I am wearied with my summers walk ; 

 And here I may rej^ose in silent ease ; 

 And thus, perchance, when life's sad journey's o'er, 

 My liarass'd soul, in this same spot, may find 

 The haven of its rest — beneath this sod 

 Perchance may sleep it sweetly, sound as death. 



I would not have my corpse cemented down 



^Yith brick and stone, defrauding the poor earth worrc 



Of its predestined dues ; no, I would lie 



Eeneath a little hillock, grass o'ergrown, 



Swath "d down with oziers, just as sleep the cotters. 



Yet may not undhtingm^^t.''d be my grave ; 



But there at eve may some congenial soul 



Duly resort, and shed a pious tear. 



The good man's benison — no more I ask. 



And oh ! (if heavenly beings may look down 



From where, with cherubim inspired, they sit, 



Upon this little dim-discover 'd spot. 



The earth,) then will I cast a glance beloiu 



On him who thus my ashes shall embalm ; 



And I will weep too, and will bless the wanderer, 



"Wishing he may not long be doomed to pine 



In this low-thouglited world of darkling woe. 



But that, ere long, he reach his kindred skies. 



Yet 'twas a silly thought — as if the body, 

 ^Mouldering beneath the surface of the earth, 

 Could taste the sweets of summer scenery, 

 And feel the freshness of the balmy breeze ! 

 Yet nature speaks within the human bosom. 

 And, spite of reason, bids it look beyond 

 His narrow verge of being, and provide 

 A decent residence for its clayey shell, 

 Endear'd to it by time. And who would lay 

 His body in the city burial-place. 

 To be thrown up again by some rude sexton, 



