FROM Little down to Least, in due degree, Around the Pastor, each in new-wrought vest, Each with a vernal posy at his breast, We stood, a trembling, earnest Company! With low soft murmur, like a distant bee, Some spake, by thought-perplexing fears betrayed; And some a bold unerring answer made: How fluttered then thy anxious heart for me, Beloved Mother! Thou whose happy hand Had bound the flowers I wore, with faithful tie: 10 Sweet flowers! at whose inaudible command Her countenance, phantom-like, doth reappear: O lost too early for the frequent tear, And ill requited by this heartfelt sigh!
