And she's gone before, boys,

And Tommy's dead.

She was always sweet, boys,

Upon his curly head,

She knew she'd never see't, boys,

And she stole off to bed;

I've been sitting up alone, boys,

For he'd come home, he said,
But it's time I was gone, boys,
For Tommy's dead.

Put the shutters up, boys,

Bring out the beer and bread,

Make haste and sup, boys,

For my eyes are heavy as lead;

There's something wrong i' the cup, boys,

There's something ill wi' the bread,

I don't care to sup, boys,

And Tommy's dead.

I'm not right, I doubt, boys,

I've such a sleepy head,

I shall never more be stout, boys,

You may carry me to bed.
What are you about, boys?

The prayers are all said,
The fire's raked out, boys,
And Tommy's dead.

The stairs are too steep, boys,
You may carry me to the head,
The night's dark and deep, boys,
Your mother's long in bed,
'Tis time to go to sleep, boys,
And Tommy's dead.

I'm not used to kiss, boys,

You may shake my hand instead.

All things go amiss, boys,

You may lay me where she is, boys,

he clouds of fear,

a happy day,

aven about her here,

w much! with her away.

Richard Monckton Milnes [1809-1885]

HER EPITAPH

ere, that once was Mary's earth, it breathed, so beautiful a soul, e died, all recognized her birth, eir sorrow in serene control.

"Not here! not here!" to every mourner's heart The wintry wind seemed whispering round her bier; And when the tomb-door opened, with a start

We heard it echoed from within,-"Not here!"

Shouldst thou, sad pilgrim, who mayst hither pass,
Note in these flowers a delicater hue,

Should spring come earlier to this hallowed grass,
Or the bee later linger on the dew,-

Know that her spirit to her body lent

Such sweetness, grace, as only goodness can;
That even her dust, and this her monument,
Have yet a spell to stay one lonely man,—

Lonely through life, but looking for the day
When what is mortal of himself shall sleep,
When human passion shall have passed away,
And Love no longer be a thing to weep.

Thomas William Parsons [1819-1892]

THE DEATH-BED

WE watched her breathing through the night,

Her breathing soft and low,
As in her breast the wave of life

Kept heaving to and fro.

So silently we seemed to speak,

So slowly moved about,

As we had lent her half our powers

To eke her living out.

Our very hopes belied our fears,

Our fears our hopes belied-
We thought her dying when she slept,
And sleeping when she died.

For when the morn came dim and sad,
And chill with early showers,

Her quiet eyelids closed-she had

Another morn than ours.

Thomas Hood (1799-1845]

"SOFTLY WOO AWAY HER BREATH"

SOFTLY WOO away her breath,

Gentle Death!

Let her leave thee with no strife,

Tender, mournful, murmuring Life!
She hath seen her happy day:-
She hath had her bud and blossom:
Now she pales and shrinks away,
Earth, into thy gentle bosom!

She hath done her bidding here,
Angels dear!

Bear her perfect soul above,

Seraph of the skies,-sweet Love!
Good she was, and fair in youth,
And her mind was seen to soar,
And her heart was wed to truth:
Take her, then, for evermore,—
For ever-evermore.

Bryan Waller Procter [1787-1874]

A DEATH-BED

HER suffering ended with the day,

Yet lived she at its close,

And breathed the long, long night away

In statue-like repose.

But when the sun in all his state

Illumed the eastern skies,

She passed through Glory's morning gate

And walked in Paradise.

James Aldrich [1810-1856]

"SHE DIED IN BEAUTY"

SHE died in beauty,-like a rose
Blown from its parent stem;
She died in beauty,-like a pearl
Dropped from some diadem.