Tomb of a Young Friend at Mount Auburn

I do remember thee.There was a strainOf thrilling music, a soft breath of flowersTelling of summer to a festive throng,That fill'd the lighted halls. And the sweet smileThat spoke their welcome, the high-warbled laySwelling with rapture through a parent's heart,Were thine.Time wav'd his noiseless wand awhile,And in thy cherish'd home once more I stood,Amid those twin'd and cluster'd sympathiesWhere the rich blossoms of thy heart sprang forth,Like the Moss Rose. Where was the voice of songPouring out glad and glorious melody?—But when I ask'd for thee, they took me whereA hallow'd mountain wrapt its verdant headIn changeful drapery of woods and flowersAnd silvery streams, and where thou erst didst love,Musing to walk, and lend a serious earTo the wild melody of birds that hungTheir unharm'd dwellings 'mid its woven bowers.Yet here and there, involv'd in curtaining shadesUprose those sculptur'd monuments, that bearThe ponderous warnings of Eternity,So, thou hast past the unreturning gate,Where dust with dust doth mingle, and gone downIn all the beauty of thy blooming yearsTo this most sacred city of the dead.The granite obelisk and the pale flower

Reveal thy couch. Fit emblems of the frail,And the immortal.But that bitter griefWhich holds stern vigil o'er the mouldering clay,Keeping long night-watch with its sullen lampHad fled thy tomb, and Faith did lift its eyeFull of sweet tears: for when warm tear-drops gushFrom the pure memories of a love that wroughtFor other's happiness and rose to takeIts own full share of happiness above,Are they not sweet?