The dear old songs they sang from morn to morn.
IV.
All holy things avoid me. Breezes pass
And will not fan my cheek, as once they did.
The gloaming hies away like one forbid;
And day returns, and shadows on the grass
Fall from the trees; and night and morn amass
No joys for me this side the coffin-lid.
V.
Absolve me, Sweet! Absolve me, or I die;