III

Part fenced by man, part by a rugged steep

That curbs a foaming brook, a Grave-yard lies;

The hare's best couching-place for fearless sleep;

Which moonlit elves, far seen by credulous eyes,

Enter in dance. Of church, or sabbath ties,

No vestige now remains; yet thither creep

Bereft Ones, and in lowly anguish weep

Their prayers out to the wind and naked skies.

Proud tomb is none; but rudely-sculptured knights,

By humble choice of plain old times, are seen

Level with earth, among the hillocks green:

Union not sad, when sunny daybreak smites

The spangled turf, and neighbouring thickets ring

With jubilate from the choirs of spring!