WIND, graceful clematis, around the urn,
Where filial love, a Mother's name has traced,
Type of her loveliness, whose loss we mourn,
With every charm, with every virtue, graced.
Wave, tall acacia, o'er the sacred stone,
Which bears inscribed a Father's honoured name;
So was his sheltering shadow, round us, thrown,
So fresh, so full, the verdure of his fame.
Blend thus your leaf and tendril, vine and tree,
And waft, as one, the fragrance of your flowers;
So they, in fond communion, full and free,
Passed their sweet lives, amid these happy bowers.
Sweet sainted ones, thus lovely in your life,
Nor, in your peaceful death, divided long,
Saved from the world, its sin, its care, its strife,
May we but join you, in that white-robed throng.
BATTERSEA RISE, 1841.