When thy body to dust shall be carelessly flung,
And over the dead no dirge be sung,
No friend in mourning vesture dight,
No lykewake sad—no tapered rite!—
Return, return thy home to bless,
Daughter of good Sir Leoline;
In that chamber a recess
Known to no other eye than thine,
Contains the powerful wild-flower wine
That often cheer’d thy mother’s heart,