34 



Peace ! it is well, see the white clouds are fleeting. 

 Over the vale comes the Angel of Death, 



Wrapt in such mystery— hush ! they are meeting, 

 The soul and the Angel depart as a breath. 



So did he die with his comrades around him ; 



Dairymaid licked the strong hand as he lay ; 

 Perfect as Master and huntsman we found him, 



Now the strong life has gone down to decay. 



Farmers, be merciful, pause we implore you. 

 Pause ere you strengthen your fences with wire, 



Mark the fair lives ever passing before you. 

 Let them ride honestly over the shire. 



Strike them not down in the midst of their pleasure. 

 Leave them to ride over England at large. 



Leave them to follow the pastime they treasure. 

 Do not let murder be laid to your charge. 



Lay him down gently, men, mourners are weeping, 

 Heads are bent reverently, faces are pale ; 



Over the churchyard the moonbeams are creeping. 

 Leave him to rest in his trrave in the vale. 



