Portland Gazette, And Maine Advertiser

BURKE'S GARDEN GRAVE.

(By the author of the Natural Bridge.)

I climb'd the high hills of the dark Appomattox,
The stream pour'd its waters, the wild woods among:
All was still, save the dash of the surge from the white-rock,
Where the sea-fowl indulg'd in his tremulous song.

On my right, where the poplars, with fair branches gleaming,
Half embosom the proud vaulted villa of Jones;
On the tomb-stone of Daly the liquid sun streaming,
Mark'd the spot where the bard had found rest for his bones.

Oh! rare is the spot hung with clustering roses,
Where Virginia's sweet Minstrel is gone to her rest,
For the sun's parting ray, on his grave oft reposes,
And the red-breast delights there to build her soft nest.

And oft shall the damsels, with bosoms high-swelling,
Whose ruby lips sweetly his soft stanzas sing,
Dejected repair to the Bard's narrow dwelling,
And deck the rais'd turf, with the garlands of Spring.