ROSA'S GRAVE.

Oh! lay me where my Rosa lies,

And love shall o'er the moss-crown'd bed,

When dew-drops leave the weeping skies,

His tenderest tear of pity shed.

And sacred shall the willow be,

That shades the spot where virtue sleeps;

And mournful memory weep to see

The hallow'd watch affection keeps.

Yes, soul of love! this bleeding heart

Scarce beating, soon its griefs shall cease;

Soon from his woes the suff'rer part,

And hail thee at the Throne of Peace!