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It breathes as of a purer clime Than where my lot is cast. My eyes fill with their sweetest tears In thinking of those early years.

It shock'd me first to see the sun Shine gladly o'er thy tomb; To see the wild flowers o'er it run In such luxuriant bloom. Now I feel glad that they should keep A bright sweet watch above thy sleep.

The heaven whence thy nature came Only recall'd its own; It is Hope that now breathes thy name, Though borrowing Memory's tone.