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Sleep! the deer is in his den;

Sleep! thy hounds are by thee lying:
Sleep! nor dream in yonder glen

How thy gallant steed lay dying.
Huntsman, rest! thy chase is done;
Think not of the rising sun,
For at dawning to assail ye
Here no bugles sound reveillé.

Sir Walter Scott




AKEN, lords and ladies gay!

On the mountain dawns the day;
All the jolly chase is here
With hawk and horse and hunting-spear;
Hounds are in their couples yelling,
Hawks are whistling, horns are knelling,
Merrily merrily mingle they,
“Waken, lords and ladies gay!”

Waken, lords and ladies gay!
The mist has left the mountain gray,
Springlets in the dawn are steaming,
Diamonds on the brake are gleaming;
And foresters have busy been
To track the buck in thicket green;
Now we come to chant our lay,
“Waken, lords and ladies gay!”

Waken, lords and ladies gay!
To the greenwood haste away;
We can show you where he lies,
Fleet of foot and tall of size;

We can show the marks he made
When 'gainst the oak his antlers frayed;
You shall see him brought to bay;
"Waken, lords and ladies gay!”

Louder, louder chant the lay,
Waken, lords and ladies gay!
Tell them youth and mirth and glee
Run a course as well as we;
Time, stern huntsman! who can balk,
Stanch as hound and feet as hawk;
Think of this, and rise with day,
Gentle lords and ladies gay!

Sir Walter Scott



THEN I am dead, my dearest,

Sing no sad songs for me;
Plant thou no roses at my head,

Nor shady cypress tree:
Be the green grass above me

With showers and dewdrops wet;
And if thou wilt, remember,

And if thou wilt, forget.

I shall not see the shadows,

I shall not feel the rain;
I shall not hear the nightingale

Sing on, as if in pain;
And dreaming through the twilight

That doth not rise nor set,
Haply I may remember,

And haply may forget.

Christina Rossetti

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When you can no more hold me by the hand,
Nor I' half turn to go, yet turning stay.
Remember me when no more, day by day,

You tell me of our future that you planned:

Only remember me; you understand
It will be late to counsel then or pray.
Yet if you should forget me for a while

And afterwards remember, do not grieve:
For if the darkness and corruption leave

A vestige of the thoughts that once I had,
Better by far you should forget and smile
Than that you should remember and be sad.

Christina Rossetti

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! Death has reared himself a throne

In a strange city lying alone
Far down within the dim west,
Where the good and the bad and the worst and the

Have gone to their eternal rest.
There shrines and palaces and towers
(Time-eaten towers that tremble not!)
Resemble nothing that is ours.
Around, by lifting winds forgot,
Resignedly beneath the sky
The melancholy waters lie.


rays from the holy heaven come down
On the long nighttime of that town;
But light from out the lurid sea
Streams up the turrets silently-
Gleams up the pinnacles far and free-
Up domes—up spires—up kingly halls-
Up fanes—up Babylon-like walls-
Up shadowy long-forgotten bowers
Of sculptured ivy and stone flowers-
Up many and many a marvelous shrine
Whose wreathèd friezes intertwine
The viol, the violet, and the vine.
Resignedly beneath the sky
The melancholy waters lie.
So blend the turrets and shadows there
That all seem pendulous in air,
While from a proud tower in the town
Death looks gigantically down.


There open fanes and gaping graves
Yawn level with the luminous waves,
But not the riches there that lie
In each idol's diamond eye-
Not the gayly-jeweled dead
Tempt the waters from their bed;
For no ripples curl, alas!
Along that wilderness of glass-
No swellings tell that winds may be
Upon some far-off happier sea
No heavings hint that winds have been
On seas less hideously serene.
But lo, a stir is in the air!

The wave-there is a movement there!
As if the towers had thrust aside,
In slightly sinking, the dull tide-
As if their tops had feebly given
A void within the filmy Heaven.
The waves have now a redder glow-

The hours are breathing faint and low-
And when, amid no earthly moans,

Down, down that town shall settle hence,
Hell, rising from a thousand thrones,

Shall do it reverence.

Edgar Allan Poe


OME lovely and soothing death,

• Undulate round the world, serenely arriving, arriving, he day, in the night, to all, to each,

her or later delicate death.

sed be the fathomless universe,

life and joy, and for objects and knowledge curious,
for love, sweet love-but praise! praise! praise!
the sure-enwinding arms of cool-enfolding death.

I mother always gliding near with soft feet,

e none chanted for thee a chant of fullest welcome?

n I chant it for thee, I glorify thee above all,

ing thee a song that when thou must indeed come, come unfalteringly.

rom the poem When Lilacs Last in the Door-yard Bloomed.

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