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THE DIRGE OF BEATRICE.

FALSE friend, wilt thou smile or weep
When my life is laid asleep?

Little cares for a smile or a tear,
The clay-cold corpse upon the bier!
Farewell! Heigho!

What is this whispers low?

There is a snake in thy smile, my dear; And bitter poison within thy tear.

Sweet sleep, were death like to thee,
Or if thou couldst mortal be,
I would close these eyes of pain;
When to wake? Never again.
O, World! Farewell!

Listen to the passing bell!
It says, thou and I must part,
With a light and a heavy heart.

SLEEP AND DEATH.

They. WE strew these opiate flowers
On thy restless pillow,-

They were stript from Orient bowers,
By the Indian billow

Be thy sleep

Calm and deep,

Like their's who fell-not ours who weep!

She. Away, unlovely dreams!

Away, false shapes of sleep!
Be his, as Heaven seems,

Clear, and bright, and deep!
Soft as love, and calm as death,

Sweet as a summer night without a breath.

They. Sleep, sleep! our song is laden
With the soul of slumber;

She.

It was sung by a Samian maiden,
Whose lover was of the number
Who now keep

That calm sleep

Whence none may wake, where none shall weep.

I touch thy temples pale!

I breathe my soul on thee!
And could my prayers avail,
All my joy should be

Dead, and I would live to weep,

So thou might'st win one hour of quiet sleep.

Hellas.

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POET of Nature, thou hast wept to know
That things depart which never may return:

Childhood and youth, friendship and love's first glow,
Have fled like sweet dreams, leaving thee to mourn.
These common woes I feel.

One loss is mine

Which thou too feel'st, yet I alone deplore.
Thou wert as a lone star, whose light did shine
On some frail bark in winter's midnight roar :
Thou hast like to a rock-built refuge stood
Above the blind and battling multitude:
In honoured poverty thy voice did weave
Songs consecrate to truth and liberty,—
Deserting these, thou leavest me to grieve,
Thus having been, that thou shouldst cease to be.

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SLEEP AND DEATH.

They. WE strew these opiate flowers
On thy restless pillow,—

She.

They were stript from Orient bowers,
By the Indian billow

Be thy sleep

Calm and deep,

Like their's who fell-not ours who weep!

Away, unlovely dreams!

Away, false shapes of sleep!

Be his, as Heaven seems,

Clear, and bright, and deep!

Soft as love, and calm as death,

Sweet as a summer night without a breath.

They. Sleep, sleep! our song is laden
With the soul of slumber;
It was sung by a Samian maiden,
Whose lover was of the number
Who now keep

She.

That calm sleep

Whence none may wake, where none shall weep.

I touch thy temples pale!

I breathe my soul on thee!
And could my prayers avail,
All my joy should be

Dead, and I would live to weep,

So thou might'st win one hour of quiet sleep.

Hellas.

Songs Consecrate to Liberty."

TO WORDSWORTH.

POET of Nature, thou hast wept to know
That things depart which never may return:

Childhood and youth, friendship and love's first glow,
Have fled like sweet dreams, leaving thee to mourn.
These common woes I feel.

One loss is mine

Which thou too feel'st, yet I alone deplore.
Thou wert as a lone star, whose light did shine
On some frail bark in winter's midnight roar :
Thou hast like to a rock-built refuge stood
Above the blind and battling multitude:
In honoured poverty thy voice did weave
Songs consecrate to truth and liberty,-
Deserting these, thou leavest me to grieve,
Thus having been, that thou shouldst cease to be.

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