ON
LAURA's
GRAVE
.
BENEATH
yon
flowery
turf
,
the
fairest
head
,
E'er
slept
on
Earth's
cold
bosom
,
lies
asleep
.
O
Earth
!
enwrap
her
soft
;
and
o'er
her
dust
Let
every
Grace
and
every
Virtue
weep
.
The
Morn
,
as
o'er
the
misty
plain
she
treads
,
Shall
sprinkle
on
the
sod
her
pearly
tears
,
And
o'er
her
grave
shall
Eve
delight
to
muse
,
While
airy
dirges
sooth
her
listening
ears
.
Oft
the
blue
nightly
taper's
studious
flame
Shall
weeping
Fancy
leave
,
and
thro'
the
gloom
Steal
a
sad
visitant
to
pour
her
plaints
,
And
bend
her
pensive
head
o'er
LAURA's
tomb
.
Here
shall
she
see
,
the
same
due
rites
to
pay
,
With
silent
pace
,
in
sable
weeds
array'd
,
Eye-streaming
Sorrow
,
and
deep-sighing
Love
,
With
trailing
torch
,
advance
along
the
shade
,
The
Muses
come
,
and
scatter
wreaths
around
,
Weav'd
by
the
fingers
of
the
infant
Year
;
Remembrance
comes
,
and
hence
departing
loth
,
Oft
turns
the
wishful
look
,
and
drops
a
tear
.