The Burial Of The Linnet.

Found in the garden--dead in his beauty.     Ah! that a linnet should die in the spring!     Bury him, comrades, in pitiful duty,     Muffle the dinner-bell, solemnly ring.     Bury him kindly--up in the corner;     Bird, beast, and gold-fish are sepulchred there;     Bid the black kitten march as chief mourner,     Waving her tail like a plume in the air.     Bury him nobly--next to the donkey;     Fetch the old banner, and wave it about:     Bury him deeply--think of the monkey,     Shallow his grave, and the dogs got him out.     Bury him softly--white wool around him,     Kiss his poor feathers,--the first kiss and last;     Tell his poor widow kind friends have found him:     Plant his poor grave with whatever grows fast.     Farewell, sweet singer! dead in thy beauty,     Silent through summer, though other birds sing;     Bury him, comrades, in pitiful duty,     Muffle the dinner-bell, mournfully ring.