THE BOUQUET. 
•>o 
v 
By voiceless lip, and moveless cheek, 
As if again the spirit wrought 
Within its temple, and would speak 
Some sweet and pleasant thought! 
5 Tis strange how much of life and light 
And beauty those fresh flow’rets give ; 
They make the clay-cold features bright 
And whisper that the lost doth live ! 
So fair the dear deception grows 
That the pale mother’s bosom glows 
With a faint feeling, almost joy. 
While gazing on her beauteous boy. 
More hopeful now her watch she keeps, 
More calmly views his lingering smile 
Which seems to say he only sleeps, 
Sleeps calm and dreams of Heaven the while 
“ Aye, strew them o’er the silent head 
“ And lay them on the quiet breast; 
“ Meet emblems of the early dead; 
“ Fit offerings for their place of rest. 
“ Let none remove those fragrant things— 
“ Affection’s votive offerings— 
“ From the pale clay; there let them fade ; 
“ And when within the grave they’re laid, 
“ Memory shall oft the lost restore, 
“ And paint him as he look’d before 
“ With the sweet garland round his brow 
“ And his lip wreath’d in smiles. 
“ Thus shall the mourning mother borrow 
“ A pleasant thought to soothe her sorrow, 
“ And deem her child was fitly dress’d 
“ To seek the presence of the bless’d. 
