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And he hes now tane, last of aw,
Gud gentill Stobo, and Quintyne Schaw,
Of quhome all wichtis hes petie :

Timor Mortis conturbat me.

Gud Maister Walter Kennedy,
In poynt of dede lyis veraly,
Gret reuth it wer that so suld be ;

Timor Mortis conturbat me.

Sen he hes all my Brether tane,
He will nocht lat me leif alane,
On forse I mon his nyxt pray be ;

Timor Mortis conturbat me.

Sen for the Deid remeid is non,
Best is that we for deid dispone,
Eftir our deid that leif may we.
Timor Mortis conturbat me.

William Dunbar,
14652-1530?

TO SIR WILLIAM ALEXANDER

[Flowers of Sion. By William Drummond, of Hawthorne

Denne.” 1623.]

Though I have twice been at the doors of death,
And twice found shut those gates which ever mourn,
This but a lightning is, truce ta'en to breath,
For lateborn sorrows augur fleet return.
Amidst thy sacred cares and courtly toils,
Alexis, when thou shalt hear wandering Fame
Tell, Death hath triumphed o'er my mortal spoils,
And that on earth I am but a sad name;

If thou e'er held me dear, by all our love,
By all that bliss, those joys Heaven here us gave,
I conjure thee, and by the maids of Jove,
To grave this short remembrance on my grave :

Here Damon lies, whose songs did sometime grace
The murmuring Esk: may roses shade the place!

William Drummond,

1585–1649.

CHARGE TO JULIA AT HIS DEATH [From "Hesperides, or The Works both Humane and Divine of

Robert Herrick, Esq.," 1648.]
Dearest of thousands, now the time draws near
That with my lines my life must full-stop here.
Cut off thy hairs, and let thy tears be shed
Over my turf, when I am buried.
Then for effusions,* let none wanting be,
Or other rites that do belong to me;
As love shall help thee, when thou dost go hence
Unto thy everlasting residence.

Robert Herrick,

1591-1674.

ELEGY
On a Lady, whom Grief for the Death of her

Betrothed Killed.

[Poems, 1873.]
Assemble, all ye maidens, at the door,
And all ye loves, assemble ; far and wide
Proclaim the bridal, that proclaimed before
Has been deferred to this late eventide :

For on this night the bride,
The days of her betrothal over,
Leaves the parental hearth for evermore;
To-night the bride goes forth to meet her lover.

Outpourings or libations.

Reach down the wedding vesture, that has lain
Yet all unvisited, the silken gown :
Bring out the bracelets, and the golden chain
Her dearer friends provided : sere and brown

Bring out the festal crown,
And set it on her forehead lightly
Though it be withered, twine no wreath again;
This only is the crown she can wear rightly.
Cloke her in ermine, for the night is cold,
And wrap her warmly, for the night is long,
In pious hands the flaming torches hold,
While her attendants, chosen from among

Her faithful virgin throng,
May lay her in her cedar litter,
Decking her coverlet with sprigs of gold,
Roses, and lilies white that best befit her.
Sound flute and tabor, that the bridal be
Not without music, nor with these alone ;
But let the viol lead the melody,
With lesser intervals, and plaintive moan

Of sinking semitone ;
And all in choir, the virgin voices
Rest not from singing in skilled harmony
The song that aye the bridegroom's ear rejoices.
Let the priests go before, arrayed in white,
And let the dark stoled minstrels follow slow,
Next they that bear her, honoured on this night,
And then the maidens, in a double row,

Each singing soft and low, And each on high a torch upstaying : Unto her lover lead her forth with light, With music, and with singing, and with praying. 'Twas at this sheltering hour he nightly came, And found her trusty window open wide, And knew the signal of the timorous flame, That long the restless curtain would not hide

Her form that stood beside ; As scarce she dared to be delighted, Listening to that sweet tale, that is no shame To faithful lovers, that their hearts have plig? ted.

But now for many days the dewy grass
Has shown no markings of his feet at morn:
And watching she has seen no shadow pass
The moonlit walk, and heard no music borne

Upon her ear forlorn.
In vain has she looked out to greet him ;
He has not come, he will not come, alas!
So let us bear her out where she must meet him.

Now to the river bank the priests are come:
The bark is ready to receive its freight :
Let some prepare her place therein, and some
Embark the litter with its slender weight:

The rest stand by in state,
And sing her a safe passage over ;
While she is pared across to her new home,
Into the arms of her expectant lover.

And thou, O lover, that art on the watch,
Where, on the banks of the forgetful streams,
The pale indifferent ghosts wander, and snatch
The sweeter moments of their broken dreams,-

Thou, when the torchlight gleams,
When thou shalt see the slow procession,
And when thine ears the fitful music catch,
Rejoice! for thou art near to thy possession.

Robert Bridges. TO BIANCA (Hesperides, or The Works Both Humane and Divine of Robert

Herrick, Esq., 1648.]
Ah, Bianca! now I see,
It is noon and past with me:
In a while it will strike one;
Then, Bianca, I am gone.
Some effusions* let me have,
Offered on my holy grave;
Then, Bianca, let me rest
With my face towards the East.

Robert Herrick,

1591-1674,

FATETI HAVE ASKED
[The Works of Walter Savage Landor, 1846. ]
Fate! I have asked few things of thee

And fewer have to ask.
Shortly, thou knowest, I shall be

No more: then con thy task.
If one be left on earth so late

Whose love is like the past,
Tell her in whispers, gentle Fate !

Not even love must last.

Tell her I leave the noisy feast

Of life, a little tired,
Amid its pleasures few possessed

And many undesired.
Tell her with steady pace to come

And, where my laurels lie,
To throw the freshest on the tomb,

When it has caught her sigh.
Outpourings or libations.

*

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