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“ O lady, he is dead and gone,
Lady, he's dead and gone! At his head a green grass turf,
And at his heels a stone.
“ Within these holy cloisters long
He languished, and he died Lamenting of a lady's love,
And 'plaining of her pride.
" Here bore him barefaced on his bier
Six proper youths and tall; And many
a tear bedewed his grave Within yon kirkyard wall."
“And art thou dead, thou gentle youth
And art thou dead and gone ? And didst thou die for love of me?
Break, cruel heart of stone !”
“O, weep not, lady, weep not so !
Some ghostly comfort seek ;
Nor tears bedew thy cheek.”
“O, do not, do not, holy friar,
My sorrow now reprove !
That e'er won lady's love.
" And now, alas ! for thy sad loss
I'll evermore weep and sigh; For thee I only wished to live,
For thee I wished to die.”
THE FRIAR OF ORDERS GRAY.
“ Weep no more, lady, weep no more ;
Thy sorrow is in vain ;
Will ne er make grow again.
“Our joys as winged dreams do fly;
Why, then, should sorrow last?
Grieve not for what is past."
“O, say not so, thou holy friar;
I pray thee, say not so:
'T is meet my tears should flow.”
Sigh no more, lady, sigh no more,
Men were deceivers ever ;
To one thing constant never.”
“ Now say not so, thou holy friar,
I pray thee, say not so;
O, he was ever true !
6 And art thou dead, thou much loved youth?
And didst thou die for me?
A pilgrim I will be.
“But first upon my truelove's grave
My weary limbs I 'll lay ;
That wraps his breathless clay."
“ Yet stay, fair lady, rest awhile
Beneath this cloister wall ; The cold wind through the hawthorn blows,
And drizzly rain doth fall.”
“O, stay me not, thou holy friar,
O, stay me not, I pray!
Can wash my fault away."
“ Yet stay, fair lady, turn again,
And dry those pearly tears ; For see, beneath this
gray, Thy own truelove appears! “Here, forced by grief and hopeless love,
These holy weeds I sought,
To end my days I thought. “ But haply,
grace Is not yet passed away,Might I still hope to win thy love,
No longer would I stay.
Once more unto my heart ;
We never more will part.”
TO THE MEMORY OF ISABEL SOUTHEY
SONNET ON HIS BLINDNESS. - Milton.
WHEN I consider how my light is spent
TO THE MEMORY OF ISABEL SOUTHEY.
'T is ever thus, — 't is ever thus, when Hope hath
built a bower Like that of Eden, wreathed about with every thorn
less flower, To dwell therein securely, the self-deceiver's trust, A whirlwind from the desert comes, and “all is in
'Tis ever thus, - 't is ever thus, that, when the poor
heart clings With all its finest tendrils, with all its flexile rings,
That goodly thing it cleaveth to, so fondly and so fast, Is struck to earth by lightning, or shattered by the
*T is ever thus, — 't is ever thus, with beams of mor
tal bliss, With looks too bright and bea'utiful for such a worl]
as this; One moment round about us their angel lightnings
play, Then down the veil of darkness drops, and all hath
'T is ever thus, 't is ever thus, with sounds toc
sweet for earth,Seraphic sounds, that float away (borne heavenward)
in their birth; The golden shell is broken, the silver chord is mute, The sweet bells all are silent, and hushed the lovely
'T is ever thus, - 't is ever thus, with all that 's best
below, The dearest, noblest, loveliest, are always first to go; The bird that sings the sweetest, the pine that crowns
the rock, The glory of the garden, the flower of the flock.
'T is ever thus, - 't is ever thus, with creatures
heavenly fair, Too finely framed to 'bide the brunt more earthly
creatures bear; A little while they dwell with us, blest ministers of
Then spread the wings we had not seen, and seek
their home above.