96
The Funeral.
'Tis then the king his casket breaks,
Encrusts the leaves with frozen dews,
Bespangles grass and holly spray;
Nor shrubs, nor weeds, the favors lose;
Encrusts the leaves with frozen dews,
Bespangles grass and holly spray;
Nor shrubs, nor weeds, the favors lose;
Shimmering the edge of ivy leaf,
With studded border, frail as fair,
Fluffing the hardy berries till
They spring erect in frosty air;
With studded border, frail as fair,
Fluffing the hardy berries till
They spring erect in frosty air;
Decking the fir and forest pine,
Each in state with an icy crown,
The funeral larch with silver plume,
To light the cloud this death has thrown—
Each in state with an icy crown,
The funeral larch with silver plume,
To light the cloud this death has thrown—
Folding the ground in ermine white,
The robes of winter's king laid down
For the mourners' slow procession,
As they bear the black coffin on.
The robes of winter's king laid down
For the mourners' slow procession,
As they bear the black coffin on.
Who is dead? asks a passer by—
Hush! for it is the old year's gone—
Dolefully chant the choristers,
As the bier moves slowly on.
Hush! for it is the old year's gone—
Dolefully chant the choristers,
As the bier moves slowly on.
