Bright dreams of youth, or friends that buried lie.
Under yon willow bending near the brook,
Where crystal waters glide the shrubs among—
Where a lone mortal, with abstracted look,
Is brooding o’er some grief his heart hath stung
Methinks that one might bid a last farewell,
To all the foes that here his bosom wrung,
And like the martyr who, forgiving, fell,
Ask no sad requiem o’er his ashes sung.
O, in the final and oblivious rest,