There where in dark, the dead-man’s day, thou liest,[n27]
Be our sharp wailing
(Grace of the dead, and Hades’ honour highest),
With thee prevailing!
STROPHE II.
Chorus.
Son, the strong-jawed funeral fire
Burns not the mind in the smoky pyre;
Sleeps, but not forgets the dead
To show betimes his anger dread.
For the dead the living moan,