A Dirge.

I.     Life has fled; she is dead,      Sleeping in the flow'ry vale     Where the fleeting shades are shed      Ghost-like o'er her features pale.     Lay her 'neath the violets wild,     Lay her like a dreaming child      'Neath the waving grass      Where the shadows pass.              II.     Gone she has to happy rest      With white flowers for her pillow;     Moons look sadly on her breast      Thro' an ever-weeping willow.     Fold her hands, frail flakes of snow,     Waxen as white roses blow      Like herself so fair,      Free from world and care.              III.     Twine this wreath of lilies wan      'Round her sculptured brow so white;     Let her rest here, white as dawn,      Like a lily quenched in night.     Wreath this rosebud wild and pale,     Wreath it 'mid her fingers frail;      On her dreamless breast      Let it dreaming rest.              IV.     Gently, gently lay her down,      Gently lay her form to sleep;     Gently let her soul be blown      Far away, while low we weep.     Hush! the earth no more can harm her     Now that choirs of angels charm her!      Dreams of life are brief;      Naught amendeth grief.              V.     Speed away! speed away!      Angels called her here to sleep;     Let us leave her here to stay:      Speed away! and, speeding, weep.     Where the roses blow and die,     'Neath them she a rose doth lie      Wilted in the grass      Where the shadows pass.