THE RED-BREAST,
IN WREXAM CHURCH, DENBIGHSHIRE,
I roam'd on a cheerful bright summer morning,
The sun, unclouded, the hills was adorning;
My heart beat in transport, but brief was the hour,
When onward I hasten'd for Wrexam's famed tow'r,
A feeling I have—and that feeling it led,
For pensive the pleasure to muse o'er the dead;
And ponder o'er graves where the good are at rest;
Who no son of sorrow yet ever oppress'd.