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A DIRGE

First printed in 1830.

1

Now is done thy long day's work;
Fold thy palms across thy breast,
Fold thine arms, turn to thy rest.
Let them rave.

Shadows of the silver birk1

Sweep the green that folds thy grave.
Let them rave.

2

Thee nor carketh 2 care nor slander;
Nothing but the small cold worm
Fretteth thine enshrouded form.
Let them rave.

Light and shadow ever wander
O'er the green that folds thy grave.
Let them rave.

3

Thou wilt not turn upon thy bed;
Chaunteth not the brooding bee
Sweeter tones than calumny?
Let them rave.

Thou wilt never raise thine head
From the green that folds thy grave.
Let them rave.

4

Crocodiles wept tears for thee;
The woodbine and eglatere

Drip sweeter dews than traitor's tear.
Let them rave.

1 Still used in the north of England for "birch".

2 Carketh. Here used transitively, "troubles," though in Old English it is generally intransitive, meaning to be careful or thoughtful; it is from the AngloSaxon Carton; it became obsolete in the seventeenth century. The substantive cark, trouble or anxiety, is generally in Old English coupled with "' care".

Rain makes music in the tree
O'er the green that folds thy grave.
Let them rave.

5

Round thee blow, self-pleached ' deep,
Bramble-roses, faint and pale,
And long purples 2 of the dale.
Let them rave.

These in every shower creep.

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Thro' the green that folds thy grave.
Let them rave.

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1 Self-pleached, self-entangled or intertwined. Cf, Shakespeare, "pleached bower," Much Ado, iii., i., 7.

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2i8ao. "Long purples," thus marking that the phrase is borrowed from Shakespeare, Hamlet, iv., vii., 169:—

and long purples That liberal shepherds give a grosser name.

It is the purple-flowered orchis, orchis mascula.

31830. Through.

4 Balm cricket, the tree cricket; balm is a corruption of baum.

LOVE AND DEATH

First printed in 1830.

What time the mighty moon was gathering light1
Love paced the thymy plots of Paradise,
And all about him roll'd his lustrous eyes;
When, turning round a cassia, full in view
Death, walking all alone beneath a yew,
And talking to himself, first met his sight:

You must begone," said Death, "these walks are mine". Love wept and spread his sheeny vans 2 for flight;

Yet ere he parted said, "This hour is thine;

Thou art the shadow of life, and as the tree
Stands in the sun and shadows all beneath,
So in the light of great eternity

Life eminent creates the shade of death;
The shadow passeth when the tree shall fall,
But I shall reign for ever over all ".3

THE BALLAD OF ORIANA

First published in 1830, not in 1833.

This fine ballad was evidently suggested by the old ballad of Helen of Kirkconnel, both poems being based on a similar incident, and both being the passionate soliloquy of the bereaved lover, though Tennyson's treatment of the subject is his own. Helen of Kirkconnel was one of the poems which he was fond of reciting, and Fitzgerald says that he used also to recite this poem, in a way not to be forgotten, at Cambridge tables. Life, i., p. 77.

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.

"

1 The expression is Virgil's, Georg., i., 437: Luna revertentes cum primum colllgit ignes "'.

2 Vans used also for "wings" by Milton, Paradise Lost, ii., 937-8 :—

His sail-broad vans

He spreads for flight.

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So also Tasso, Gtr. Lit., ix., 60: Indi spiega al gran volo i vanni aurati". 3 Cf. Lockiley Hall Sixty Yrars After: "Love will conquer at the last ".

Ere the light on dark was growing,

Oriana,

At midnight the cock was crowing,
Oriana:

Winds were blowing, waters flowing,
We heard the steeds to battle going,
Oriana;

Aloud the hollow bugle blowing,
Oriana.

In the yew-wood black as night,
Oriana,

Ere I rode into the fight,
Oriana,

While blissful tears blinded my sight
By star-shine and by moonlight,
Oriana,

1 to thee my troth did plight,
Oriana.

She stood upon the castle wall,

Oriana:

She watch'd my crest among them all,
Oriana :

She saw me fight, she heard me call,
When forth there stept a foeman tall,
Oriana,

Atween me and the castle wall,
Oriana.

The bitter arrow went aside,

Oriana:

The false, false arrow went aside,
Oriana:

The damned arrow glanced aside,

And pierced thy heart, my love, my bride,

Oriana!

Thy heart, my life, my love, my bride,

Oriana!

Oh! narrow, narrow was the space,

Oriana.

Loud, loud rung out the bugle's brays,

Oriana.

Oh! deathful stabs were dealt apace,
The battle deepen'd in its place,
Oriana;

But I was down upon my face,
Oriana.

They should have stabb'd me where I lay,
Oriana!

How could I rise and come away,

Oriana?

How could I look upon the day?

They should have stabb'd me where I lay, Oriana—

They should have trod me into clay,

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Thou smilest, but thou dost not speak,
And then the tears run down my cheek,

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