And I'll rest my old head:

'Tis a poor world, this, boys,

And Tommy's dead.

Sydney Dobell [1824-1874]

IN MEMORIAM

'Tis right for her to sleep between
Some of those old Cathedral walls,
And right too that her grave is green
With all the dew and rain that falls.

'Tis well the organ's solemn sighs

Should soar and sink around her rest,

And almost in her ear should rise

The prayers of those she loved the best.

'Tis also well this air is stirred

By Nature's voices loud and low, By thunder and the chirping bird,

And grasses whispering as they grow.

For all her spirit's earthly course
Was as a lesson and a sign

How to o'errule the hard divorce

That parts things natural and divine.

Undaunted by the clouds of fear,
Undazzled by a happy day,

She made a Heaven about her here,
And took how much! with her away.

Richard Monckton Milnes [1809-1885]

HER EPITAPH

THE handful here, that once was Mary's earth, Held, while it breathed, so beautiful a soul, That, when she died, all recognized her birth, And had their sorrow in serene control.

"Not here! not here!" to every mourner's heart The wintry wind seemed whispering round her bier; And when the tomb-door opened, with a start

We heard it echoed from within,-“Not here!"

Shouldst thou, sad pilgrim, who mayst hither pass,
Note in these flowers a delicater hue,

Should spring come earlier to this hallowed grass,
Or the bee later linger on the dew,-

Know that her spirit to her body lent

Such sweetness, grace, as only goodness can;
That even her dust, and this her monument,
Have yet a spell to stay one lonely man,-

Lonely through life, but looking for the day
When what is mortal of himself shall sleep,
When human passion shall have passed away,
And Love no longer be a thing to weep.

Thomas William Parsons [1819-1892]

THE DEATH-BED

WE watched her breathing through the night,

Her breathing soft and low,
As in her breast the wave of life
Kept heaving to and fro.

So silently we seemed to speak,

So slowly moved about,

As we had lent her half our powers
To eke her living out.

Our very hopes belied our fears,

Our fears our hopes belied-
We thought her dying when she slept,
And sleeping when she died.

For when the morn came dim and sad,
And chill with early showers,

Her quiet eyelids closed-she had

Another morn than ours.

Thomas Hood (1799-1845]

HESTER

WHEN maidens such as Hester die,
Their place ye may not well supply,
Though ye among a thousand try,
With vain endeavor.

A month or more hath she been dead,
Yet cannot I by force be led

To think upon the wormy bed,
And her together.

A springy motion in her gait,
A rising step, did indicate

Of pride and joy no common rate,
That flushed her spirit:

I know not by what name beside
I shall it call;-if 'twas not pride,
It was a joy to that allied,

She did inherit.

Her parents held the Quaker rule,
Which doth the human feeling cool;

But she was trained in Nature's school,

Nature had blessed her.

A waking eye, a prying mind,

A heart that stirs, is hard to bind;

A hawk's keen sight ye cannot blind,—
Ye could not Hester.

My sprightly neighbor, gone before
To that unknown and silent shore,
Shall we not meet, as heretofore,

Some summer morning,

When from thy cheerful eyes a ray
Hath struck a bliss upon the day,—
A bliss that would not go away,-
A sweet forewarning?

Charles Lamb [1775-1834]

"SOFTLY WOO AWAY HER BREATH"

SOFTLY WOO away her breath,

Gentle Death!

Let her leave thee with no strife,

Tender, mournful, murmuring Life!
She hath seen her happy day:-

She hath had her bud and blossom:
Now she pales and shrinks away,
Earth, into thy gentle bosom!

She hath done her bidding here,
Angels dear!

Bear her perfect soul above,

Seraph of the skies,-sweet Love!
Good she was, and fair in youth,
And her mind was seen to soar,
And her heart was wed to truth:
Take her, then, for evermore,—
For ever-evermore.

Bryan Waller Procter [1787-1874]

A DEATH-BED

HER suffering ended with the day,

Yet lived she at its close,

And breathed the long, long night away

In statue-like repose.

But when the sun in all his state

Illumed the eastern skies,

She passed through Glory's morning gate

And walked in Paradise.

James Aldrich [1810-1856]

"SHE DIED IN BEAUTY”

SHE died in beauty,-like a rose
Blown from its parent stem;
She died in beauty,-like a pearl
Dropped from some diadem.

She died in beauty,-like a lay
Along a moonlit lake;

·She died in beauty,-like the song
Of birds amid the brake.

She died in beauty,-like the snow
On flowers dissolved away;
She died in beauty,—like a star
Lost on the brow of day.

She lives in glory,-like night's gems
Set round the silver moon;
She lives in glory,—like the sun

Amid the blue of June.

Charles Doyne Sillery [1807-1837]

THE WHITE JESSAMINE

I KNEW she lay above me,

Where the casement all the night Shone, softened with a phosphor glow

Of sympathetic light,

And that her fledgling spirit pure

Was pluming fast for flight.

Each tendril throbbed and quickened
As I nightly climbed apace,
And could scarce restrain the blossoms

When, anear the destined place,

Her gentle whisper thrilled me

Ere I gazed upon her face.

I waited, darkling, till the dawn
Should touch me into bloom,
While all my being panted

To outpour its first perfume,
When, lo! a paler flower than mine
Had blossomed in the gloom!

John Banister Tabb [1845-1909]