THE TRYSTING-PLACE.
Pale worker, sadly feeding on your tear-besoddened bread,
With cold and palsied fingers, and hot and throbbing head;
The only pleasant dream that your haggard eyes have seen,
Comes when thinking of the trysting-place—the churchyard green.
With cold and palsied fingers, and hot and throbbing head;
The only pleasant dream that your haggard eyes have seen,
Comes when thinking of the trysting-place—the churchyard green.
Oh! a bonnie place it is, for we all shall jostle there,
No matter whether purple robes, or lazar rags we wear:
No marble wall, nor golden plate, can raise a bar between
The comers to the trysting-place—the churchyard green!
No matter whether purple robes, or lazar rags we wear:
No marble wall, nor golden plate, can raise a bar between
The comers to the trysting-place—the churchyard green!
Hark! there's the passing bell, and there's the chant again!
The Cavalier and Squire are keeping up the strain;
Oh loudly sings old Death, on his white and bony hack,
And loudly sings the Sexton, with his spade upon his back.
The Cavalier and Squire are keeping up the strain;
Oh loudly sings old Death, on his white and bony hack,
And loudly sings the Sexton, with his spade upon his back.
'Tis hard to say, where they may stay and troll their theme of sorrow
It may be at my door to-day—perchance at yours to-morrow;
So let us live in kindness, since we all must meet, I ween,
Upon that common trysting-place—the churchyard green!
It may be at my door to-day—perchance at yours to-morrow;
So let us live in kindness, since we all must meet, I ween,
Upon that common trysting-place—the churchyard green!
365
