A WISH.

To the south of the church, and beneath yonder yew, A pair of child-lovers I've seen, More than once were they there, and the years of the two, When added, might number thirteen. They sat on the grave that has never a stone The name of the dead to determine, It was Life paying Death a brief visit—alone A notable text for a sermon. They tenderly prattled; what was it they said? The turf on that hillock was new; Dear Little Ones, did ye know aught of the Dead, Or could he be heedful of you? I wish to believe, and believe it I must, Her father beneath them was laid: I wish to believe,—I will take it on trust, That father knew all that they said. My own, you are five, very nearly the age Of that poor little fatherless child: And some day a true-love your heart will engage, When on earth I my last may have smiled. Then visit my grave, like a good little lass, Where'er it may happen to be, And if any daisies should peer through the grass, Be sure they are kisses from me. And place not a stone to distinguish my name, For strangers to see and discuss: But come with your lover, as these lovers came, And talk to him sweetly of us. And while you are smiling, your father will smile Such a dear little daughter to have, But mind,—O yes, mind you are happy the while— I wish you to visit my Grave.