A DIRGE. I. Now is done thy long day's work; Shadows of the silver birk Sweep the green that folds thy grave. Let them rave. II. Thee nor carketh care nor slander ; Nothing but the small cold worm Let them rave. Light and shadow ever wander O'er the green that folds thy grave. Let them rave. III. Thou wilt not turn upon thy bed; Let them rave. Thou wilt never raise thine head From the green that folds thy grave. Let them rave. IV. Crocodiles wept tears for thee ; Drip sweeter dews than traitor's tear. Rain makes music in the tree O'er the green that folds thy grave. Let them rave. 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 Thro' the green that folds thy grave. Let them rave. VI. The gold-eyed kingcups fine; Kings have no such couch as thine, As the green that folds thy grave. 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. LOVE AND DEATH. WHAT time the mighty moon was gathering light Life eminent creates the shade of death; 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, At midnight the cock was crowing, Oriana: Winds were blowing, waters flowing, Oriana; Aloud the hollow bugle blowing, Oriana. Uor M |