FELICIA DOROTHEA HEMANS

622. T)irge

CALM on the bosom of thy God, Fair spirit, rest thee now! E'en while with ours thy footsteps trod. His seal was on thy brow.

Dust, to its narrow house beneath !

Soul, to its place on high ! They that have seen thy look in death

No more may fear to die.

JOHN KEATS

Song of the Indian Maid FROM 'ENDYMION*

SORROW !

Why dost borrow The natural hue of health, from vermeil lips \

To give maiden blushes

To the white rose bushes? Or is it thy dewy hand the daisy tips?

O Sorrow I

Why dost borrow The lustrous passion from a falcon-eye?

To give the glow-worm light ?

Or, on a moonless night, To tinge, on siren shores, the salt sea-spry \

sea-spry] sea-spray.

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