88 FLOEA’S ALBUM. 
Persimmon. • 
BURY MB AMID NATURE’S BEAU¬ 
TIES. 
Ohmake me a grave on the marge of that stream 
Where often in youth’s gladsome morning I 
strayed; 
Where the song of the lark, at Aurora’s first heam, 
Awakes from their slumbers the flowers of the 
glade, — 
Near the wide-spreading hazel, where lambkins 
repose. 
Like snow-wreaths untouched by the sun’s melt¬ 
ing ray. 
Whose branches the nest of the linnet enclose. 
While the thrush sweetly sings from its dew¬ 
dropping spray. 
Where the hawthorn’s rich perfume is borne on the 
gale. 
And wild scattered flowerets yield sweets to the 
bee. 
How oft have I roved through that thyme-scented 
vale. 
My heart like the mountain-breeze buoyant and 
free! i 
Isabella Graham. 
