Meet emblem of that heaven so bright, And find, my friend, that happy dwelling! THE FRIAR OF ORDERS GREY. PERCY. Ir was a Friar of orders grey And he met with a Lady fair, Clad in a pilgrim's weeds. "Now Christ thee save, thou rev'rend Friar, I pray thee tell to me, If ever at yon holy shrine My true-love thou didst see." "And how should I know your true-love From many another one?" "Oh, by his cockle hat and staff, And by his sandal shoon. "But chiefly by his face and mien, "O Lady, he is dead and gone! Lady, he's dead and gone! "Within these holy cloisters long He languish'd and he died, Lamenting of a lady's love, And 'plaining of her pride. "Here bore him bare-fac'd on his bier "And art thou dead, thou gentle youth? "O weep not, Lady, weep not so; "O do not, do not, holy Friar, "And now, alas! for thy sad loss, "Weep no more, Lady, weep no more; Thy sorrow is in vain : For violets pluck'd, the sweetest showers Will ne'er make grow again. "Our joys as winged dreams do fly; Why then should sorrow last? Since grief but aggravates thy loss, Grieve not for what is past." "O say not so, thou holy Friar ; I pray thee, say not so: For since my true-love died for me, 'Tis meet my tears should flow. "And will he never come again? Will he ne'er come again? Ah! no; he is dead, and laid in his grave, For ever to remain. "His cheek was redder than the roseThe comeliest youth was he: 66 But he is dead and laid in his grave, Sigh no more, Lady, sigh no more, One foot on sea, and one on land, "Hadst thou been fond, he had been false, For young men ever were fickle found, "Now say not so, thou holy Friar, I pray thee, say not so; My love he had the truest heart : O he was ever true! "And art thou dead, thou much-lov'd youth? And didst thou die for me? Then farewell, home; for ever more A pilgrim I will be. "But first upon my true-love's grave My weary limbs I'll lay ; And thrice I'll kiss the green-grass turf "Yet stay, fair Lady, rest a while Beneath this cloister wall: The cold wind through the hawthorn blows, And drizzly rain doth fall." "O stay me not, thou holy Friar, No drizzly rain that falls on me, "Yet stay, fair Lady, turn again, "Here, forc'd by grief, and hopeless love, These holy weeds I sought: And here, amid these lonely walls, To end my days I thought. "But haply, for my year of grace Is not yet past away, Might I still hope to win thy love, "Now farewell grief, and welcome joy Once more unto my heart; For since I've found thee, lovely youth, ON DEATH. From the Russian of Derzhavin. TRANSLATED BY JOHN BOWRING, ESQ. Ан, that funereal toll! loud tongue of Time! Nought his untir'd rapacity can cloy : We tremble on the borders of th' abyss, But mortal man forgets mortality! His dreams crowd ages into life's short day; |