Tell him, for coral, thou hast none,
But if thou hadst, he should have one;
But poor thou art, and known to be
Even as moneyless as he.

Lastly, if thou canst win a kiss
From those mellifluous lips of his,
Then never take a second on,
To spoil the first impression.

15

THE DIRGE OF JEPHTHAH'S DAUGHTER: SUNG BY THE VIRGINS

O THOU, the wonder of all days!
O paragon, and pearl of praise!
O virgin-martyr, ever blest

Above the rest

Of all the maiden train! We come, And bring fresh strewings to thy tomb.

Thus, thus, and thus we compass round
Thy harmless and unhaunted ground;
And as we sing thy dirge, we will
The daffodil

And other flowers lay upon

The altar of our love, thy stone.

Thou wonder of all maids, liest here,
Of daughters all the dearest dear;

The eye of virgins; nay, the queen

Of this smooth green,

And all sweet meads, from whence we get The primrose and the violet.

Too soon, too dear did Jephthah buy,
By thy sad loss, our liberty.

His was the bond and cov'nant, yet
Thou paid'st the debt:

Lamented maid! he won the day,
But for the conquest thou didst pay.

Thy father brought with him along
The olive-branch and victor's song.
He slew the Ammonites, we know,
But to thy woe;

And in the purchase of our peace,
The cure was worse than the disease.

For which obedient zeal of thine,

We offer here, before thy shrine,
Our sighs for storax, tears for wine;

And to make fine

And fresh thy hearse-cloth, we will here Four times bestrew thee ev'ry year.

Receive, for this thy praise, our tears;
Receive this offering of our hairs;

Receive these crystal vials fill'd

With tears distill'd

From teeming eyes: to these we bring,
Each maid, her silver filleting,

To gild thy tomb; besides, these cauls,
These laces, ribbons, and these falls,
These veils, wherewith we use to hide
The bashful bride,

When we conduct her to her groom:
And all we lay upon thy tomb.

No more, no more, since thou art dead,
Shall we e'er bring coy brides to bed;
No more, at yearly festivals

We cowslip balls

Or chains of columbines shall make
For this or that occasion's sake.

No, no; our maiden pleasures be

Wrapp'd in the winding-sheet with thee. "T is we are dead, though not i' th' grave; Or, if we have

One seed of life left, 't is to keep

A Lent for thee, to fast and weep.

Sleep in thy peace, thy bed of spice,
And make this place all Paradise.

May sweets grow here; and smoke from hence

Fat frankincense.

Let balm and cassia send their scent
From out thy maiden-monument.

May no wolf howl, or screech-owl stir
A wing about thy sepulcher!

No boisterous winds or storms come

hither

To starve or wither

Thy soft sweet earth! but, like a spring, Love keep it ever flourishing.

May all shy maids, at wonted hours,
Come forth to strew thy tomb with

flow'rs:

May virgins, when they come to mourn, Male-incense burn

Upon thine altar! then return,

And leave thee sleeping in thy urn.

16

THE WHITE ISLAND, OR PLACE OF THE

BLEST

IN this world, the Isle of Dreams,
While we sit by sorrow's streams,
Tears and terrors are our themes,
Reciting;

But when once from hence we fly,
More and more approaching nigh
Unto young eternity,

Uniting

In that whiter island where
Things are evermore sincere;
Candor here, and luster there,
Delighting.

There no monstrous fancies shall
Out of Hell an horror call,
To create, or cause at all
Affrighting.

There, in calm and cooling sleep,
We our eyes shall never steep,
But eternal watch shall keep,
Attending

Pleasures such as shall pursue
Me immortalized, and you;
And fresh joys, as never to
Have ending.

17

THE BELLMAN

ALONG the dark and silent night, With my lantern and my light, And the tinkling of my bell, Thus I walk, and this I tell: Death and dreadfulness call on To the gen❜ral session,

To whose dismal bar we there All accounts must come to clear.