At this solemn spot, where the green rushes wave,
Here sadly we bent o’er the Butterfly’s grave;
‘Twas here we to beauty our obsequies paid,
And hallowed the mound which her ashes had made.
And here shall the daisy and the violet blow,
And the lily discover her bosom of snow;
While under the leaf, in the evening of spring,
Still mourning his friend, shall the Grasshopper sing.