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V.

Round thee blow, self-pleached deep,
Bramble-roses, faint and pale,
And long purples of the dale.

Let them rave.
These in every shower creep
Through the green that folds thy grave.

Let them rave.

VI.

The gold-eyed kingcups fine;
The frail bluebell peereth over
Rare broidry of the purple clover.

Let them rave.
Kings have no such couch as thine,
As the
green

that folds thy grave.
Let them rave.

VII.

Wild words wander here and there ; God's great gift of speech abused Makes thy memory confused

But let them rave. The balm-cricket carols clear

In the green that folds thy grave.

Let them rave.

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What time the mighty moon was gathering light
Love paced the thymy plots of Paradise,
And all about him rollid his lustrous eyes;
When, turning round a cassia, full in view
Death, walking all alone beneath a yew,
And talking to himself, first met his sight :
“ You must be gone,” said Death,“ these walks are mine."
Love wept and spread his sheeny vans for flight;
Yet ere he parted said, “This hour is thine :
Thou art the shadow of life, and as the tree
Stands in the sun and shadows all beneath,
So in the light of great eternity
Life eminent creates the shade of death ;
The shadow passeth when the tree shall fall,
But I shall reign for ever over all.”

THE

BALLAD OF ORIANA.

My heart is wasted with my woe,

Oriana.

There is no rest for me below,

Oriana.

When the long dun wolds are ribb'd with snow,
And loud the Norland whirlwinds blow,

Oriana,
Alone I wander to and fro,

Oriana.

Ere the light on dark was growing,

Oriana, At midnight the cock was crowing,

Oriana :
Winds were blowing, waters flowing,
We heard the steeds to battle going,

Oriana ;
Aloud the hollow bugle blowing,

Oriana.

In the yew-wood black as night,

Oriana,
Ere I rode into the fight,

Oriana,
While blissful tears blinded my sight
By star-shine and by moonlight,

Oriana,
I to thee my troth did plight,

Oriana.

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