The red-breast warbles round this leafy cove.
Sweet messenger of calm decay,
Saluting sorrow as you may,
As one still bent to make, or find the best,
In thee, and in this quiet mead
The lesson of sweet peace I read,
Rather in all to be resign’d than blest.
’Tis a low chant, according well
With the soft solitary knell,
As homeward from some grave belov’d we turn,