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I wish my grave were growing green,
A winding-sheet drawn ower my een,
And I in Helen's arms lying,

On fair Kirconnell lea.

I wish I were where Helen lies ;
Night and day on me she cries;
And I am weary of the skies,
Since my Love died for me.

Anon.

CXXXVI

THE TIVA CORDIES As I was walking all alane I heard twa corbies making a mane ; The tane unto the t'other say, Where sall we gang and dine today?'

---In behint yon auld fail dyke,
I wot there lies a new-slain Knight;
And naebody kens that he lies there,
But his hawk, his hound, and lady fair.

• Ilis hound is to the hunting gane,
Ilis hawk to fetch the wild-fowl hame,
Ilis lady's ta'en another mate,
So we may mak our dinner sweet.

Ye'll sit on his white hause-bane, And I'll pick out his bonnie blue cen: Wi' ae lock o' his gowden hair We'll theek our nest when it grows bare.

• Mony a one for him makes mane,
But nane sall ken where he is gane ;
O’er his white banes, when they are bare,
The wind sall blaw for evermair.'

non.

CXXXVII

ON THE DEATH OF JR. WILLILII

HERVEY
It was a dismal and a fearful night,
Scarce could the Morn drive on th' unwilling light,
When sleep, death's image, left my troubled breast,

By something liker death possest.
My eyes with tears did uncommanded flow,

And on my soul hung the dull weight

Of some intolerable fate, What bell was that? Ah me! Too much I know !

My sweet companion, and my gentle peer,
Why hast thou left me thus unkindly ‘here,
Thy end for ever, and my life, to moan ?

O thou hast left me all alone!
Thy soul and body, when death's agony

Besieged around thy noble heart,

Did not with more reluctance part Than I, my dearest friend, do part from thee.

Ye fields of Cambridge, our dear Cambridge, say,
Have ye not seen us walking every day?
Was there a tree about which did not know

The love betwixt us two?
Henceforth, ye gentle trees, for ever fade,

Or your sad branches thicker join,

And into darksome shades combine, Dark as the grave wherein my friend is laid.

Large was his soul ; as large a soul as e'er
Submitted to inform a body here;
High as the place 'twas shortly in Heaven to have,

But low and humble as his grave;
So high that all the virtues there did come

As to the chiefest seat

Conspicuous, and great ;
So low that for me too it made a room.

Knowledge he only sought, and so soon caught,
As if for him knowledge had rather sought ;
Nor did more learning ever crowded lie

In such a short mortality.
Whene'er the skilful youth discoursel or writ,

Still did the notions throng

About his eloquent tongue ;
Nor could his ink flow faster than his wit.

His mirth was the pure spirits of various wit, l'et never did his God or friends forget. And when deep talk and wisdom came in view,

Retired, and gave to them their due. For the rich help of books he always took,

Though his own searching mind before

Was so with notions written o'er,
As if wise Nature had made that her book.

With as much zeal, devotion, piety,
He always lived, as other saints do die.
Still with his soul severe account he kept,

Weeping all debts out ere he slept.
Then down in peace and innocence he lay,

Like the sun's laborious light,

Which still in water sets at night, Unsullied with his journey of the day.

4. Cowley

CXXXVIII

FRIENDS IN PARADISE They are all gone into the world of light !

And I alone sit lingering here ; Their very memory is fair and bright,

And my sad thoughts doth clear :It glows and glitters in my cloudy breast,

Like stars upon some gloomy grove, Or those faint beams in which this hill is drest,

After the sun's remove.

I see them walking in an air of glory,

Whose light doth trample on my days : My days, which are at best but dull and hoary,

Mere glimmering and decays.

O holy Hope ! and high Humility,

High as the heavens above ! These are your walks, and you have shew'd them

me,

To kindle my cold love. .

Dear, beauteous Death ! the jewel of the just,

Shining no where, but in the dark ; What mysteries do lie beyond thy dust,

Could man outlook that mark !

He that hath found some fledged bird's nest, may

know

At first sight, if the bird be flown';
But what fair well or grove he sings in now,

That is to him unknown.

And yet, as Angels in some brighter dreams

Call to the soul, when man doth sleep ;
So some strange thoughts transcend our wonted

themes,
And into glory peep.

H. Vaughan

CXXXIX

TO BLOSSOJIS
Fair pledges of a fruitful tree,

Why do ye fall so fast?

Your date is not so past,
But you may stay yet here awhile
To blush and gently smile,

And go at last,

What, were ye born to be

An hour or half's delight,

And so to bid good-night? 'Twas pity Nature brought ye forth Merely to show your worth,

And lose you quite.

But you are lovely leaves, where we

May read how soon things have

Their end, though ne'er so brave : And after they have shown their pride Like you, awhile, they glide Into the grave.

R. Herrick

CYL

TO DAFFODILS Fair Daffodils, we weep to see

You haste away so soon :
As yet the early-rising Sun
Has not attain'd his noon.

Stay, stay,
Until the hasting clay

Has run
But to the even-song ;
And, having pray'd together, we

Will go with you along.

We have short time to stay, as you,

We have as short a Spring ;
As quick a growth to meet decay
As you, or any thing.

We die,
As your hours do, and dry

Away
Like to the Summer's rain ;
Or as the pearls of morning's dew
Ne'er to be found again.

R. Herrick

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