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!