How quietly it stands within the bound
Of its low wall of grey and mossy stone!
And like a shepherd's peaceful flock around
Their guardian gather'd — graves or tombstones strown
Make their last narrow resting-places known,
Who, living, loved it as a holy spot;
And dying, did their deep attachment own
By wishing here to sleep when life was not,
And that some humble sign might keep them unforgot.