AN EPITAPH[1]ON A ROBIN-REDBREAST.Tread lightly here, for here, ’tis said,When piping winds are hush’d around,A small note wakes from underground,Where now his tiny bones are laid.No more in lone and leafless groves,With ruffled wing and faded breast,His friendless, homeless spirit roves;—Gone to the world where birds are blest!Where never cat glides o’er the green,Or school-boy’s giant form is seen;But Love, and Joy, and smiling SpringInspire their little souls to sing![1]Inscribed on an urn in the flower-garden at Hafod.
Tread lightly here, for here, ’tis said,When piping winds are hush’d around,A small note wakes from underground,Where now his tiny bones are laid.No more in lone and leafless groves,With ruffled wing and faded breast,His friendless, homeless spirit roves;—Gone to the world where birds are blest!Where never cat glides o’er the green,Or school-boy’s giant form is seen;But Love, and Joy, and smiling SpringInspire their little souls to sing!
[1]Inscribed on an urn in the flower-garden at Hafod.