83.

ROBERT SOUTHEY.

Stanzas.

I.

My days among the Dead are past;
Around me I behold,

Where'er these casual eyes are cast
The mighty minds of old;

My never failing friends are they,
With whom I converse day by day.

2.

With them I take delight in weal,
And seek relief in woe;

And while I understand and feel

How much to them I owe,

My cheeks have often been bedew'd
With tears of thoughtful gratitude.

3.

My thoughts are with the Dead, with them

I live in long-past years,

Their virtues love, their faults condemn,
Partake their hopes and fears,

And from their lessons seek and find

Instruction with an humble mind.

4.

My hopes are with the Dead, anon
My place with them will be,

And I with them shall travel on

Through all Futurity;

Yet leaving here a name, I trust,
That will not perish in the dust.

1837 Edition.

84.

ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON.

Requiem.

UNDER the wide and starry sky,

Dig the grave and let me lie.
Glad did I live and gladly die,
And I laid me down with a will.

This be the verse you grave for me:
Here he lies where he longed to be;
Home is the sailor, home from sea,
And the hunter home from the hill.

1887 Edition.

It is the miller's daughter,

And she is grown so dear, so dear, That I would be the jewel

That trembles in her ear:

For hid in ringlets day and night,
I'd touch her neck so warm and white.

And I would be the girdle

About her dainty dainty waist,
And her heart would beat against me,
In sorrow and in rest:

And I should know if it beat right,
I'd clasp it round so close and tight.

And I would be the necklace,

And all day long to fall and rise

Upon her balmy bosom,

With her laughter or her sighs,

86.

And I would lie so light, so light,

I scarce should be unclasp'd at night.

St. Agnes' Eve.

DEEP on the convent-roof the snows
Are sparkling to the moon :

My breath to heaven like vapour goes:
May my soul follow soon!

The shadows of the convent-towers
Slant down the snowy sward,

Still creeping with the creeping hours
That lead me to my Lord:

Make Thou my spirit pure and clear
As are the frosty skies,

Or this first snowdrop of the year
That in my bosom lies.

As these white robes are soil'd and dark,

To yonder shining ground;

As this pale taper's earthly spark,

To yonder argent round;

So shows my soul before the Lamb,
My spirit before Thee;