Decently, kindly, Smooth, and compose them; And her eyes, close them, Dreadfully staring Perishing gloomily, Cross her hands humbly Over her breast! Owning her weakness, Her evil behaviour, And leaving, with meekness, Her sins to her Saviour! T. Hood CCXXXII ELEGY SNATCH'D away in beauty's bloom! On thee shall press no ponderous tomb; But on thy turf shall roses rear Their leaves, the earliest of the year, And the wild cypress wave in tender gloom : And oft by yon blue gushing stream Shall Sorrow lean her drooping head, Away! we know that tears are vain, That Death nor heeds nor hears distress: Or make one mourner weep the less? Lord Byron W CCXXXIII HESTER HEN maidens such as Hester die Their place ye may not well supply, Though ye among a thousand try With vain endeavour. A month or more hath she been dead, To think upon the wormy bed A springy motion in her gait, Of pride and joy no common rate I know not by what name beside She did inherit. Her parents held the Quaker rule Which doth the human feeling cool; But she was train'd in Nature's school, Nature had blest her. A waking eye, a prying mind, A heart that stirs, is hard to bind ; My sprightly neighbour! gone before Some summer morning- C. Lamb H CCXXXIV CORONACH E is gone on the mountain, Like a summer-dried fountain, When our need was the sorest. The fount reappearing From the raindrops shall borrow But to us comes no cheering, To Duncan no morrow! The hand of the reaper Takes the ears that are hoary, But the voice of the weeper Waft the leaves that are serest, Fleet foot on the correi, Sage counsel in cumber, Red hand in the foray, How sound is thy slumber! Like the dew on the mountain, Like the foam on the river, Like the bubble on the fountain, Thou art gone, and forever! Sir W. Scott CCXXXV THE DEATH BED WE watch'd her breathing thro' the night, WE Her breathing soft and low, As in her breast the wave of life Kept heaving to and fro. But when the morn came dim and sad And chill with early showers, Her quiet eyelids closed Another morn than ours. she had T. Hood CCXXXVI ROSABELLE LISTEN, listen, ladies gay! No haughty feat of arms I tell ; 'Moor, moor the barge, ye gallant crew, ; 'The blackening wave is edged with white 'Last night the gifted Seer did view A wet shroud swathed round lady gay; Then stay thee, Fair, in Ravensheuch; Why cross the gloomy firth to-day?' "'T is not because Lord Lindesay's heir "'T is not because the ring they ride, |