No more of Zephyr's airy robe I'll sing,

Or balmy odours dropping from his wing,

Or how his spicy breath revives the lands,

And curls the waves which roll o'er crystal sands.

No more I'll paint the glowing hemisphere...

Poet:



Melpomene, now strike a mournful string,

Montgomery's fate assisting me to sing!

Thou saw him fall upon the hostile plain

Yet ting'd with blood that gush'd from Moncalm's veins,

Where gallant Wolfe for conquest gave...

Poet:

For Death — or rather

For the Things 'twould buy —

This — put away

Life's Opportunity —


The Things that Death will buy

Are Room —

Escape from Circumstances —

And a Name —

...

Poet:

It came at last but prompter Death

Had occupied the House —

His pallid Furniture arranged

And his metallic Peace —


Oh faithful Frost that kept the Date

Had Love as punctual been

Delight had...

Poet:

It was not Death, for I stood up,

And all the Dead, lie down —

It was not Night, for all the Bells

Put out their Tongues, for Noon.


It was not Frost, for on my Flesh

I felt Siroccos — crawl —

Nor...

Poet:

Let down the Bars, Oh Death —

The tired Flocks come in

Whose bleating ceases to repeat

Whose wandering is done —


Thine is the stillest night

Thine the securest Fold

Too near Thou art for seeking Thee...

Poet:

Life, and Death, and Giants —

Such as These — are still —

Minor — Apparatus — Hopper of the Mill —

Beetle at the Candle —

Or a Fife's Fame —

Maintain — by Accident that they proclaim —

Poet:

Of Death I try to think like this —

The Well in which they lay us

Is but the Likeness of the Brook

That menaced not to slay us,

But to invite by that Dismay

Which is the Zest of sweetness

To the same...

Poet:

TIME was when I was free as air,

The thistle's downy seed my fare,

   My drink the morning dew;

I perch'd at will on ev'ry spray,

My form genteel, my plumage gay,

   My strains for ever new.


But...

Poet:

 

            There was no bell to peal thy funeral dirge,

            No nodding plumes to wave above thy bier,

            No shroud to wrap thee but the foaming surge,

            No kindly voices thy dark way to cheer,
...

Poet: