Page:Poetical Remains.pdf/302

And those loved trees my tomb o'ershade,

Beneath whose arching bowers my childhood played.

Vain dream! that tomb in distant earth,
    Shall rise forsaken and forgot,
And thou, sweet land, that gav'st me birth,
    A grave must yield me not!
Yet haply he for whom I leave,
Thy shores, in life's dark winter-eve,
When cold the hand, and closed the lays,
And mute the voice he loved to praise,
O'er the hushed harp one tear may shed,

And one frail garland o'er the minstrel's bed!