Song. Metempsychosis.

When Grief comes this way by
With her wan lip and drooping eye,
Bid her welcome, woo her boldly;
Soon she'll look on thee less coldly.

Her tears soon cease to flow.
'Tis now not Grief but Joy we know;
From her smiling face the roses
Tell the glad metempsychosis.

Thomas Runciman

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Thomas Runciman

Song.

Thomas Runciman, Simple Poetry

And there shall be no night there and they

Thomas Runciman, Simple Poetry

Northumbria. - A Dirge.

Thomas Runciman, Simple Poetry

English

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Song.

                Once as the aureole
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A Song Before Grief.

Sorrow, my friend,
When shall you come again?
The wind is slow, and the bent willows send
Their silvery motions wearily down the plain.
The bird is dead
That sang this morning through the summer rain!

Sorrow, my friend,
I owe my soul to you.
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Said, honoring, when I'm dead, -
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wreath, are due.

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"Lie there," I said, "my Sorrow! lie thou there!
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It is my Sorrow leave him unto me

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Regret Not Me

    Regret not me;
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Consolation In Bereavement.

'Tis not when we look on the dreamless dead,
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I heard a gentle maiden, in the spring,
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To be a thoughtful fragrance to my brain, -
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"Thy love before thee, I must tread behind,
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Lest thy true love should rest on a false dream."

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And words speak false; - yet, if they welcome prove,
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