And feed deep thought with many a dream, And lingering pause and lightly tread; Fond wretch! as if her step disturb'd the dead! Away! we know that tears are vain, Or make one mourner weep the less? LORD BYRON. 233. HESTER. When maidens such as Hester die A month or more hath she been dead, 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 A waking eye, a prying mind, My sprightly neighbour! gone before When from thy cheerful eyes a ray C. LAMB 234. CORONACH. He 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 Wails manhood in glory. The autumn winds rushing Waft the leaves that are serest, But our flower was in flushing When blighting was nearest. Fleet foot on the correi, Sage counsel in cumber, Red hand in the foray, How sound is thy slumber! Thou art gone, and for ever! SIR W. SCOTT. 235. THE DEATH BED. We watch'd her breathing thro' the night, 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 Her quiet eyelids closed-she had Another morn than ours. T.. HOOD. 236. ROSABelle. O listen, listen, ladies gay! No haughty feat of arms I tell; Soft is the note, and sad the lay That mourns the lovely Rosabelle. "Moor, moor the barge, ye gallant crew, Rest thee in Castle Ravensheuch, "The blackening wave is edged with white; "Last night the gifted Seer did view "'Tis not because Lord Lindesay's heir "'Tis not because the ring they ride, -O'er Roslin all that dreary night A wondrous blaze was seen to gleam; 'Twas broader than the watch-fire's light, And redder than the bright moonbeam. It glared on Roslin's castled rock, It ruddied all the copse-wood glen; 'Twas seen from Dryden's grove of oak, And seen from cavern'd Hawthornden. Seem'd all on fire that chapel proud Seem'd all on fire within, around, And glimmer'd all the dead men's mail. Blazed battlement and pinnet high, There are twenty of Roslin's barons bold But the sea holds lovely Rosabelle ! And each Saint Clair was buried there With candle, with book, and with knell; But the sea-caves rung, and the wild winds sung The dirge of lovely Rosabelle. SIR W. SCOTT. 237. ON AN INFANT DYING AS SOON AS BORN. S I saw where in the shroud did lurk A flow'ret crushéd in the bud, Extinct, with scarce the sense of dying: So soon to exchange the imprisoning womb She did but ope an eye, and put A clear beam forth, then straight up shut For the long dark: ne'er more to see Through glasses of mortality. Riddle of destiny, who can show What thy short visit meant, or know What thy errand here below? Shall we say, that Nature blind Check'd her hand, and changed her mind |