PHILIP BOURKE MARSTON.
Tears for my lady dead—
Heliodore! Salt tears, and strange to shed,
Over and o'er; Tears to my lady dead,
Love do we send, Longed for, rememberèd,
Lover and friend! Sad are the songs we sing,
Tears that we shed, Empty the gifts we bring
Gifts to the dead! Go, tears, and go, lament,
Fare from her tomb, Wend where my lady went
Down through the gloom! Ah, for my flower, my love,
Hades hath taken I Ah, for the dust above
Scattered and shaken! Mother of blade and grass,
Earth, in thy breast Lull her that gentlest was
Gently to rest!
From the Greek of MELEAGER.
Translation of ANDREW LANG.
ON THE DEATH OF HER BROTHER, FRANCIS I.
'T is done! a father, mother, gone,
A sister, brother, torn away, My hope is now in God alone,
Whom heaven and earth alike obey. Above, beneath, to him is known,—
The world's wide compass is his own.
I love,—but in the world no more,
Nor in gay hall, or festal bower; Not the fair forms I prized before,—
But him, all beauty, wisdom, power, My Saviour, who has cast a chain
On sin and ill, and woe and pain!
I from my memory have effaced
All former joys, all kindred, friends; All honors that my station graced
I hold but snares that fortune sends: Hence! joys by Christ at distance cast,
That we may be his own at last!
From the French of MARGUERITE DE VALOIS,
QUEEN OF NAVARRE.
Translation of LOUISA STUART COSTELLO.