Page:The Forest Sanctuary.pdf/190

This page has been proofread, but needs to be validated.
184
LAYS OF MANY LANDS.



    Look on him! is he laid
To slumber from the harvest or the chase?
—Too still and sad the smile upon his face,
    Yet that, ev'n that, must fade!
Death holds not long unchang'd his fairest guest,—
Come near! and bear the mortal to his rest!

    His voice of mirth hath ceas'd
Amidst the vineyards! there is left no place
For him whose dust receives your vain embrace,
    At the gay bridal feast!
Earth must take earth to moulder on her breast;
Come near! weep o'er him! bear him to his rest!

    Yet mourn ye not as they
Whose spirit's light is quench'd!—for him the past
Is seal'd. He may not fall, he may not cast
    His birthright's hope away!
All is not here of our belov'd and bless'd—
—Leave ye the sleeper with his God to rest!

This article is issued from Wikisource. The text is available under Creative Commons Attribution-Share Alike 4.0 unless otherwise noted. Additional terms may apply for the media files.