With an ancient melody Of an inward agony, At eve the beetle boometh Athwart the thicket lone : The babbling runnel crispeth, The hollow grot replieth Where Claribel low-lieth. A DIRGE. I. WOW is done thy long day's work; NOW Fold thy palms across thy breast, Fold thine arms, turn to thy rest. Let them rave. Shadows of the silver birk Sweep the green that folds thy grave. Let them rave. II. Thee nor carketh care nor slander; Nothing but the small cold worm A DIRGE. Fretteth thine enshrouded form. Light and shadow ever wander O'er the green that folds thy grave. III. Thou wilt not turn upon thy bed; Thou wilt never raise thine head IV. Crocodiles wept tears for thee; Drip sweeter dews than traitor's tear. Rain makes music in the tree O'er the green that folds thy grave. ' V. Round thee blow, self-pleached deep Let them rave. These in every shower creep Through the green that folds thy grave. Let them rave. 29 When the long dun wolds are ribbed with snow, And loud the Norland whirlwinds blow, Oriana, Alone I wander to and fro, Oriana. THE BALLAD OF ORIANA. Ere the light on dark was growing, At midnight the cock was crowing, Winds were blowing, waters flowing, Aloud the hollow bugle blowing, In the yew-wood, black as night, Ere I rode into the fight, Oriana, While blissful tears blinded my sight, I to thee my troth did plight, She stood upon the castle wall, Oriana: She watched my crest among them all, Oriana : She saw me fight, she heard me call, Oriana, Atween me and the castle wall, Oriana. The bitter arrow went aside, Oriana: The false, false arrow went aside, Oriana: 31 |