featured stone,
That seems to muse, like ancient village crone
Belost in thought o'er memories strange and old.

Outside the stunted boundary, a row
Of poplars tall--beside whose haughty mien
And silky rustlings of whose robes of green
The lowly church still humbler seems to grow.

A-near the lych-gate in the crumbling wall,
A spreading oak, grotesque and ancient, stands,
Like aged monk extending prayerful hands
In silent benediction over all,

'Twas early morn: the red sun glinted o'er
The hazy sky-line of the far-off hill:
Below, the valley slept so calm and still--
A misty sea engirt by golden shore.

Out in the dim and dreamy distance rose
A spectral range of alp-like scenery--
Mountain on mountain, far as eye could see,
Their foreheads white and hoar with wintry snows.

And as I leaned the low-built wall upon
That shut the little churchyard from the road,
Children and maidens into Death's abode,
With wild flow'rs laden, wandered one by one.

And in their midst, stooping and white with age,
Rich in their wealth of quaint old village lore,
Came ancient dames, with faces furrowed o'er,
That told of griefs in life's long pilgrimage.

The sun is rising now: the poplar tips
Are touched with liquid light: the gravestones old,
And hoary church, are flushed with fringe of gold,
As though embraced by angel's hallowed lips.

And with the morning sunshine children roam
To place wild flowers where the loved ones slept;
O'er father, mother, sister--long since swept
Away by death--with blossoms sweet they come.

Silent reminders of abiding love!
What tender language from each petal springs!
Affection's tribute! Heart's best offerings!
Wanderers, surely, from the realms above!

For heart-to-heart, and life-to-life, had been
The loves of those who were and those who are;
Till death had severed them--O, cruel bar!
Leaving a dark and unknown stream between.

And on that stream, in loving fancy tossed,
Each faithful heart its floral tribute threw,
As though the hope from out the tribute grew
To bridge the gulf the one beloved had crossed.

Near yonder grave there stands a widowed life:
Husband and son beneath the grave-stone rest:
Some laurels tell, by tender lip caressed,
The changeless love of mother and of wife.

And o'er the bright green leaflets as they