No step retreating, on the sand impress'd, Invites the visit of a second guest; No refluent fin the unpeopled stream divides, No revolant pinion cleaves the airy tides; 235 Nor handed moles, nor beaked worms return, That mining pass the irremeable bourn.

For him sod-seats the cottage-door adorn; And peeps the far-off spire, his evening bourn!

The scenery around his burial-place is fraught with melancholy associationsenshrined as have been its beauties by him that now sought a bourn amidst them.

but it whispers joy; For him lost flowers their idle sweets exhale; He tastes the meanest note that swells the gale; 20 For him sod-seats the cottage-door adorn, And peeps the far-off spire, his evening bourn!