A RHYMER'S WISH.
WHEN Death with no unwelcome touch Shall free my weary sprite, I would not be lamented much, Nor yet forgotten quite.
Let Artstlevise no sounding mask Affliction's voice to aid ; The softest sigh is all I ask To soothe my wistful shade. The tribute of a silent tear Would satisfy the claim Of one who found few friendships here, And never dreamt of fame.
No marble mound to load my breast Should I arise to sue, Would Love his constancy attest With a fresh flower or two.
While Memory, from her grassy seat, Might now and then incline O'er the mute rhymeter to repeat A verse of his,—a line.
With such memorials to endear Some lone, sepulchral spot, I should not wake too sad a tear, Nor yet be quite forgot. J. S. D.