Nor in the shade of the pure white cliff,
Where the screaming sea-gulls come.
But away, away, on the high hill’s brow,
Where the dark trees darker wave,
Ye have found for me a stranger home,—
O, give me a stranger grave!”
“I have no one but you to advise me, Carl; now tell me what to do,” Harris said.
Carl looked out at the glowing western sky, and said: “She will be better pleased if we will comply with her last request; we will bury her here.”
Harris only smiled at the boy’s reply and he went on: “Will you give her to the cold earth decked so showily? That brilliant, silken, flattering dress, and those richly-gleaming pearls, are too earthly for death’s bridal, are they not?”
“It makes very little difference what the poor frail body wears, Carl,” Harris answered, mournfully. “We will bury her as she is.”