[I know how vain it is to mourn]

I KNOW how vain it is to mourn

O'er blighted hopes, and friendship fled;

How yet more vain it is, to turn

With sorrow to the slumb'ring dead.

Oh! they sleep well!--for o'er their rest

No dark, and life-like mock'ries come

To cloud the brain, and wring the breast,

Which in the grave hath found a home !