Classic Poem

BY JOHN B. DILLON .

Where shall the dead, and the beautiful, sleep?
In the vale where the willow and cypress weep;
Where the wind of the west breathes its softest sigh;
Where the silvery stream is flowing nigh,
And the pure, clear drops of its rising sprays
Glitter like gems in the bright moon's rays —
Where the sun's warm smile may never dispel
Night's tears o'er the form we loved so well —
In the vale where the sparkling waters slow;
Where the fairest, earliest violets grow;
Where the sky and the earth are softly fair,
Bury her there — bury her there!

Where shall the dead, and the beautiful, sleep?
Where wild flowers bloom in the valley deep;
Where the sweet robes of spring may softly rest,
In purity, over the sleeper's breast:
Where is heard the voice of the sinless dove,
Breathing notes of deep and undying love;
Where no column proud in the sun may glow,
To mock the heart that is resting below;
Where pure hearts are sleeping, forever blest;
Where wandering Perii love to rest;
Where the sky and the earth are softly fair,
Bury her there — bury her there!