Together, when the school-bell called,
Our willing youthful feet obeyed,
And when the eve grew dim, our heads
Were on the self-same pillow laid
Ah! never more that happy voice
Will cheer me on life's thorny way,
And never more that buoyant frame
Will rise with me at peep of day;
But low within the silent vault,
Beneath the dull and senseless clod,
It rests until that trump shall sound,
The awaking trump of God!
A thought of Mount Auburn.
My soul's imaginings,
At whose high names my heart hath thrilled,
Through all its finest strings!
There was a sunny light around
My idlest thought of thee;
I dreamed that thou a hallowed ground,
A fairy land, must be;