218 PEARLS AND PEBBLES. 



Fair lilies, nursed by weeping dews, 

 Unfold their blossoms pale, 



And spotless snow-flowers lightly bend 

 Low to the passing gale. 



The fire-fly lights her little spark 



To cheer the leafy gloom, 

 Like Hope's blest ray that gilds the night 



And darkness of the tomb. 



Where moss-grown stone or simple cross 



Its silent record keeps, 

 There, deep within the forest shade, 



The lonely exile sleeps. 



