VOICES OF NATURE. I JUNE. GAZED upon the glorious sky And the green mountains round, And thought that when I came to lie At rest within the ground, "Twere pleasant that in flowery June, The sexton's hand, my grave to make, A cell within the frozen mould, A coffin borne through sleet, While fierce the tempests beat- There, through the long, long summer hours, The golden light should lie, And thick young herbs and groups of flowers Stand in their beauty by. The oriole should build and tell His love-tale close beside my cell; The idle butterfly Should rest him there, and there be heard The housewife bee and humming-bird. JUNE. And what if cheerful shouts at noon Or songs of maids, beneath the moon, I would the lovely scene around I know, I know I should not see Nor would its brightness shine for me, But if, around my place of sleep, The friends I love should come to weep, Soft airs, and song, and light, and bloom, These to their softened hearts should bear Whose part, in all the pomp that fills Is-that his grave is green; And deeply would their hearts rejoice |