POEMS OF SUSSEX PLACES.
Yes, that fair flower blooms o'er a brother's boast,
A mother's joy, a doating father's pride;
Brief is the tale : her^fondest hopes were crossed,—
She loved,—was slighted,—murmured not—but died !
And sweetly by that flower is typified
Her loveliness and spotless purity;
And the green myrtle, waving by its side,
Her certain hope of immortality !
The sable yew-tree throws its solemn shade O'er yon green mound in dreary loneliness, And tells that he who there in death is laid, While living was the victim of distress; His youth was folly, and his age no less;— But let that pass : his was the lot of all Who seek in vanity for happiness, And when too late their hours would fain recall.
Beneath those cedars rest a gentle pair,
Of lowly station and of humble name;
Their peaceful course was free from pain and care;—
In life they were but one, in death the same;
And well their virtues may the tribute claim
With which affection had adorned the spot.
Ah! who would covet wealth, or power, or fame,
If happiness like theirs could be his lot ?
Where yonder bay erects his graceful form, There sleeps the hapless gifted child of song : No more exposed to envy's bitter storm, No longer keenly feeling every wrong, And there is one who loves to linger long Where the green turf his hallowed dust enshrines j And, hiding from the giddy, senseless throngs, Her hopeless misery, o'er his fate repines !