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Thro’ the open gates of the city afar,
To the shepherd who watcheth the evening star.
And the creeping mosses and clambering wees.
And the willow-branches hoar and dank,
And the wavy swell of the soughing reeds,
And the wave-worn horns of the echoing bank,
And the silvery marish-flowers that throng
The desolate creeks and pools among,
Were flooded over with eddying song.

A DIRGE.

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 birk
Sweep the green that folds thy grave.

Let them rave.

Thee nor carketh 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.

Thou wilt not turn upon thy bed ;
Chanteth 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.

Crocodiles wept tears for thee;
The woodbine and eglatere
Drip sweeter dews than traitor's tear.

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

Let them rave.

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

Let them rave.
These in every shower creep
Thro' the green that folds thy grave.

Let them rave.

The gold-eyed kingcups fine;
The frail bluebell peereth over
Rare broidry of the purple clover.

Let them rave.
Kinys have no such couch as thine,
As the green that folds thy grave.

Let them rave.

Wild words wander here and there :
God's great gift of speech abused
Makes thy memory confused :

But let them rave.
The balm-cricket carols clear
In the green that folds thy grave.

Let them rave.

LOVE AND DEATH.

Wat time the mighty moon was gathering light
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 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 forever over all."

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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.

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,

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.
Ol! 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,

Oriana.

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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.

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,

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