Brother, we sing thee the song of death, And the shafts that are pointed and feather'd for flight. Long and painful is thy way! Lies the road that must be past, By bridges narrow-wall'd Where scarce the Soul can force its way, While the loose fabric totters under it. Safely may our Brother pass! Safely may he reach the fields, Where the sound of the drum and the shell Shall be heard from the Country of Souls! Shall come to welcome thee; The God of the Dead in his bower Brother we pay thee the rites of death, Rest in the bower of delight! ERTHUSYO. RECANTATION, Illustrated in the STORY of the MAD OX. By S. T. COLERIDGE. I. An Ox, long fed with musty hay, · II. The grass was fine, the sun was bright, The Ox was glad, as well he might, Much like a beast of spirit. III. "Stop, neighbours! stop! why these alarms? "The Ox is only glad." But still they pour from cots and farms- (A hoaxing hunt has always charms) IV. The frighted beast scamper'd about, He gores the dog, his tongue hangs out-He's mad, he's mad, by Jove! V. "Stop, neighbours, stop!" aloud did call A sage of sober hue. But all at once on him they fall, And women squeak and children squall, "What! would you have him toss us all! “And damme! who are you?" VI. Ah hapless sage! his ears they stun, You bloody-minded dog!" (cries one) VII. "You'd have him gore the parish priest, "You Fiend!"—The sage his warnings ceas'd, * One of the many fine words which the most uneducated had about this time a constant opportunity of acquiring from the sermons in the pulpit, and the proclamations on abe corners. VIII. Old Lewis, 'twas his evil day, The frighted beast ran on-but here, X. The frighted beast ran thro' the town, The Publicans rush'd from the Crown, "Halloo! hamstring him? cut him down!" They drove the poor Ox mad. |