“But bid them ring my passing peal!

“Deck not thyself, dear maid, to meet

“Thy love; but bring his winding sheet!

“I come not to your festive cheer;

“Ye comrades, place me on my bier!—”

—The morrow found him stiff and pale:

Mournful the Muse recounts his tale.

Her stately tower there Hanbury rears,

Which proudly looks o’er distant shires;

Down the chill slope and darken’d glade