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Wirge.

The redbreast oft, at evening hours,

Shall kindly lend his little aid,
With hoary moss, and gathered flowers,

To deck the ground where thou art laid.

When howling winds and beating rain

In tempests shake the sylvan cell, Or 'midst the chase, on every plain,

The tender thought on thee shall dwell.

Ir thou wilt ease thine heart
Of love, and all its smart-

Then sleep, dear, sleep!
And not a sorrow
Hang any tear on your eyelashes;

Lie still and deep, Sad soul, until the sea-wave washes The rim o' the sun to-morrow,

In eastern sky.

Each lonely scene shall thee restore,

For thee the tear be duly shed; Beloved till life can charm no more, And mourned till pity's self be dead.

WILLIAM COLLINS.

But wilt thou cure thine heart
Of love, and all its smart

Then die, dear, die! 'Tis deeper, sweeter, Than on a rose-bank to lie dreaming

With folded eye;
And then alone, amid the beaming
Of love's stars, thou 'lt meet her
In eastern sky.

Thomas LOVELL BEDDOES.

Bridal Song and Wirge. A CYPRESS-BOUGH and a rose-wreath sweet, A wedding-robe and a winding-sheet,

A bridal-bed and a bier ! Thine be the kisses, maid,

And smiling love's alarms;
And thou, pale youth, be laid

In the grave's cold arms:
Each in his own charms -

Death and Hymen both are here.
So up with scythe and torch,
And to the old church porch,

While all the bells ring clear; And rosy, rosy the bed shall bloom, And earthy, earthy heap up the tomb.

Wirge.
SOFTLY!
She is lying
With her lips apart.

Softly!
She is dying of a broken heart.

Whisper!
She is going
To her final rest.

Whisper!
Life is growing

Dim within her breast.

Now tremble dimples on your cheek-
Sweet be your lips to taste and speak,

For he who kisses is near:
By her the bridegod fair,

In youthful power and force;
By him the grizard bare,

Pale knight on a pale horse,
To woo him to a corse —

Death and Hymen both are here.
So up with scythe and torch,
And to the old church porch,

While all the bells ring clear;
And rosy, rosy the bed shall bloom,
And earthy, earthy heap up the tomb.

Thomas LOVELL BEDDOES.

Gently!
She is sleeping,
She has breathed her last.

Gently!
While you are weeping,
She to heaven has past !

CHARLES GAMAGE EASTXAN.

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