Some carven letters sweetly said
That for a day his heart had bled,
And named the maid for whom.
This maid, on coming to the mound,
Felt a remorseful pain,
And kissed his image, clasped it round,
Grew pale, and sank upon the ground,
And shed an April rain.
Then, like a prison-bursting thief,
Outleapt the bounding boy,