The light-winged bird chanting on every grave,
The balmy, pure, and health-restoring breeze,
Sporting its gambols through the leafy trees.
In such a spot whole hours have past and fled,
With no companionship except the dead;
Yet not time lost, for even the silent tomb
Proclaims its lesson—teaches of our doom.
And we may read, while thoughtful and alone,
A useful lesson from the sculptured stone;
And lay to heart, and in our own behalf,