THE DIRGE OF IMOGEN.

Each lonely scene shall thee restore,
For thee the tear be duly shed:
Beloved till Life can charm no more,
And mourned till Pity's self be dead.

WILLIAM COLLINS.

THE DIRGE OF IMOGEN.

FEAR no more the heat o' the sun,
Nor the furious Winter's rages;

Thou thy worldly task hast done,

Home art gone, and ta'en thy wages:
Golden lads and girls all must,
As chimney-sweepers, come to dust.

Fear no more the frown o' the great,
Thou art past the tyrant's stroke;
Care no more to clothe and eat;
To thee the reed is as the oak.
The sceptre, learning, physic, must
All follow this, and come to dust.

Fear no more the lightning-flash,

Nor the all-dreaded thunder-stone;

Fear not slander, censure rash ;

Thou hast finished joy and moan:

YORK AND LANCASTER.

All lovers young, all lovers must
Consign to thee, and come to dust.

No exorciser harm thee!

Nor no witchcraft charm thee!
Ghost unlaid forbear thee!
Nothing ill come near thee!
Quiet consummation have,

And renowned be thy grave!

SHAKSPEARE.

YORK AND LANCASTER.

IF this fair rose offend thy sight,
Placed in thy bosom bare,

"Twill blush to find itself less white,
And turn Lancastrian there.

But if thy ruby lip it spy,

As kiss it thou mayst deign,

With envy pale 'twill lose its dye,
And Yorkish turn again.

ANONYMOUS.

WITH fingers weary and worn,
With eyelids heavy and red,
A woman sat, in unwomanly rags,
Plying her needle and thread,

Stitch, stitch, stitch!

In poverty, hunger, and dirt;

truth fingers weary
eyelids Leavy

A woman

& red

unwomanly rags.

Plying her needle & Thrand

Stitet, stetet

In prouts, hunger,

stitch

& dirt,

And

a voice of dolorous

would

that it's

tone could

reach

The Rich

She

sury this song of the Sheit!

Ted: Horch

THE NEW YORK PUBLIC LIBRARY

ASTOP, LENOX

LDEN FOUNDATIONS