Perhaps, in this sequestered spot
By Friendship’s hand thine eyelid closed,
By Friendship’s hand the turf was laid;
And Friendships here, perhaps, reposed.
With moonlight vigils in the shade.
The stars have run their nightly round,
The sun looked out and passed his way,
And many a season o’er the ground
Has trod where thou so softly lay.
And wilt thou not one moment raise