In seeds of laurel in the earth The blossom of your fame is blown, And somewhere, waiting for its birth, The shaft is in the stone! Meanwhile, behalf the tardy years Which keep in trust your storied tombs, Behold! your sisters bring their tears, And these memorial blooms. Small tributes! but your shades will smile More proudly on these wreaths to-day, Than when some cannon-moulded pile Shall overlook this bay. Stoop, angels, hither from the skies! 1867. Henry Timrod. A LYKE-WAKE DIRGE THIS ae nighte, this ae nighte, Fire and sleet and candle-lighte, When thou from hence away art past, To Whinny-muir thou com'st at last; 12 16 20 8 If ever thou gavest hosen and shoon, Sit thee down and put them on; And Christe receive thy saule. If hosen and shoon thou ne'er gav'st nane, The whinnes sall prick thee to the bare bane; From Whinny-muir when thou may'st pass, To Brig o' Dread thou com'st at last; From Brig o' Dread when thou may'st pass, To Purgatory fire thou com'st at last; 12 16 20 24 If ever thou gavest meat or drink, -Every nighte and alle, The fire sall never make thee shrink; And Christe receive thy saule. 8 If meat or drink thou ne'er gav'st nane, The fire will burn thee to the bare bane; 32 This ae nighte, this ae nighte, -Every nighte and alle, Fire and sleet and candle-lighte, And Christe receive thy saule. 36 Scott, Minst. Scot. Bord. "FEAR NO MORE THE HEAT O' 1623. THE SUN” From Cymbeline FEAR no more the heat o' the sun, Thou thy worldly task hast done, As chimney-sweepers, come to dust. Fear no more the frown o' the great, To thee the reed is as the oak: Fear no more the lightning-flash Nor the all-dreaded thunder-stone; Thou hast finished joy and moan: William Shakespeare. 6 12 18 1623. A SEA DIRGE From The Tempest FULL fathom five thy father lies: bell! William Shakespeare THE SHROUDING OF THE DUCHESS OF MALFI From The Duchess of Malfi HARK! Now everything is still, The screech-owl and the whistler shrill, Call upon our dame aloud, And bid her quickly don her shroud! Much you had of land and rent; Of what is 't fools make such vain keeping? And the foul end more to check A crucifix let bless your neck: 'T is now full tide 'tween night and day; End your groan and come away. 1612 1623. 14 18 John Webster. A DIRGE From The White Devil. CALL for the robin-redbreast and the wren, Since o'er the shady groves they hover, And with leaves and flowers do cover The friendless bodies of unburied men. Call unto his funeral dole The ant, the field-mouse, and the mole, |