''''II''l THE OLGO.
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Green be the turf above thee,

 Friend of my better days, None knew thee but to love thee, None nam'd thee but to praise. Tears fell when thou vert dying

 From eyes unns'd to weep; And often, where thou rt iying,

 Will tears thy green bed steep. When hearts whose home is Heaven, Like thine has left the earth, Ti,ero should a wreath be woven, To tell the world their worth: And mine the task to braid 1t

 Around thy faded hrow, But in vain l have essay'd it--

 1 feel l cannot now.