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In seeds of laurel in the earth

The blossom of your fame is blown, And somewhere, waiting for its birth, The shaft is in the stone!

Meanwhile, behalf the tardy years

Which keep in trust your storied tombs, Behold! your sisters bring their tears, And these memorial blooms.

Small tributes! but your shades will smile More proudly on these wreaths to-day, Than when some cannon-moulded pile Shall overlook this bay.

Stoop, angels, hither from the skies!
There is no holier spot of ground
Than where defeated valor lies,
By mourning beauty crowned!

1867.

Henry Timrod.

A LYKE-WAKE DIRGE

THIS ae nighte, this ae nighte,
-Every nighte and alle,

Fire and sleet and candle-lighte,
And Christe receive thy saule.

When thou from hence away art past,
-Every nighte and alle,

To Whinny-muir thou com'st at last;
And Christe receive thy saule.

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16

20

8

If ever thou gavest hosen and shoon,
-Every nighte and alle,

Sit thee down and put them on;

And Christe receive thy saule.

If hosen and shoon thou ne'er gav'st nane,
-Every nighte and alle,

The whinnes sall prick thee to the bare bane;
And Christe receive thy saule.

From Whinny-muir when thou may'st pass,
-Every nighte and alle,

To Brig o' Dread thou com'st at last;
And Christe receive thy saule.

From Brig o' Dread when thou may'st pass,
-Every nighte and alle,

To Purgatory fire thou com'st at last;
And Christe receive thy saule.

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16

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If ever thou gavest meat or drink,

-Every nighte and alle,

The fire sall never make thee shrink;

And Christe receive thy saule.

8

If meat or drink thou ne'er gav'st nane,
-Every nighte and alle,

The fire will burn thee to the bare bane;
And Christe receive thy saule.

32

This ae nighte, this ae nighte,

-Every nighte and alle,

Fire and sleet and candle-lighte,

And Christe receive thy saule.

36

Scott, Minst. Scot. Bord.

"FEAR NO MORE THE HEAT O'

1623.

THE SUN”

From Cymbeline

FEAR no more the heat o' the sun,
Nor the furious winter's rages;

Thou thy worldly task hast done,
Home art gone, and ta'en thy wages:
Golden lads and girls all must,

As chimney-sweepers, come to dust.

Fear no more the frown o' the great,
Thou are past the tyrant's stroke;
Care no more to clothe, and eat;

To thee the reed is as the oak:
The sceptre, learning, physic, must
All follow this, and come to dust.

Fear no more the lightning-flash

Nor the all-dreaded thunder-stone;
Fear not slander, censure rash;

Thou hast finished joy and moan:
All lovers young, all lovers must
Consign to thee, and come to dust.

William Shakespeare.

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12

18

1623.

A SEA DIRGE

From The Tempest

FULL fathom five thy father lies:
Of his bones are coral made;
Those are pearls that were his eyes:
Nothing of him that doth fade
But doth suffer a sea-change
Into something rich and strange.
Sea-nymphs hourly ring his knell :
Hark! now I hear them,-Ding-dong,

bell!

William Shakespeare

THE SHROUDING OF THE

DUCHESS OF MALFI

From The Duchess of Malfi

HARK! Now everything is still,

The screech-owl and the whistler shrill,

Call upon our dame aloud,

And bid her quickly don her shroud!

Much you had of land and rent;
Your length in clay 's now competent :
A long war disturb'd your mind;
Here your perfect peace is sign'd.

Of what is 't fools make such vain keeping?
Sin their conception, their birth weeping,
Their life a general mist of error,
Their death a hideous storm of terror.
Strew your hair with powders sweet,
Don clean linen, bathe your feet,

And the foul end more to check

A crucifix let bless your neck:

'T is now full tide 'tween night and day; End your groan and come away.

1612 1623.

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John Webster.

A DIRGE

From The White Devil.

CALL for the robin-redbreast and the wren,

Since o'er the shady groves they hover, And with leaves and flowers do cover The friendless bodies of unburied men. Call unto his funeral dole

The ant, the field-mouse, and the mole,

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