AN EPITAPH ON A ROBIN-REDBREAST. * TREAD lightly here, for here, 'tis said, * Inscribed on an urn in the flower-garden at Hafod. DEAR is my little native vale, The ring-dove builds and murmurs there; Close by my cot she tells her tale To every passing villager. The squirrel leaps from tree to tree, In orange-groves and myrtle-bowers, The shepherd's horn at break of day, D D TO THE BUTTERFLY. CHILD of the sun! pursue thy rapturous flight, -Yet wert thou once a worm, a thing that crept |