Classic Poem

Mount Auburn! loveliest city of the dead,
No cemetery on earth with thee may vie
In native beauty. Wheresoe'er we tread,
Wood, water, rocks, turf, flowers, salute the eye:
Afar the ocean's bosom is outspread,
And naught distracts our meditations high
And holy reveries. Earth and air and wave
Are tranquil all, as man's best home, the Grave!
What obelisk arises on yon hill,
That overlooks a stately town and bay?
It is a scene to gaze on! Look thy fill!
Yet temples, islands, shipping, what are they?
All charms of art and nature, taste and skill,
Fail to withdraw us from that column gray:
The first great battle-ground our fathers prest,
It marks a Warren's glorious bed of rest!