To breathe new verdure o'er the mound
Where the kindly Poet lies.

Gently lay him in his place,
While the still Brethren round him stand;
The soul indeed is far away,
But we would reverence the clay
In which so long she made a stay,
Beaming through the friendly face,
And holding forth the honest hand —

Thou, that didst so often twine
For other urns the funeral song,
One who has known and lov'd thee long,
Would, ere he mingles with the throng,
Just hang this little wreath on thine.

Farewell, thou spirit kind and true;
Old Friend, for evermore Adieu!

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