They should not have buried thee here!
0! they should have made thee a bed,
Where the flowers at thy feet would appear,
And the birds would sing over thy head.
O! They should have laid thee to rest,
From the smoke of the city, away
Where the dew would fall bright on thy breast,
And the green turf would cover thy clay.
Afar in the forest's green shade,
The tall pine above thee should wave,
Where the "Blue-bird" would perch o'er thy head,
And the Whip-poor-Will" sit on thy grave.
Where Spring would come forth with her smiles,
And the birds that to thee were so dear;
And sing 'mong the green leafy aisles,
The songs you delighted to hear.
And the red man would marvel to meet
A grave in the green forest shade;
And the hunter at evening would sit,
And weep where thine ashes are laid.
They should not have buried thee here,
For the forest above thee should wave.
But have borne thee away on thy bier,
Where the birds would sing over thy grave.
Author's Note: Alexander Wilson, the Scottish Poet and American Ornithologist, is buried in the Cemetery of the Swedish Church, Southwark, Philadelphia. The Navy-yard refreshment-rooms and a wharf are within a hundred yards of his grave. "Had I been at home when he died," said his friend George Ord, "I would have selected some quiet spot in the country, retired from the city, where the birds would have warbled over his grave. Such a spot as he himself would have preferred."