Ccab ?.cabfs. 
217 
Dead Leaves. ...i)ea^yi. 
A MORE appropriate emblem of death than the re- 
mains of the forest's refreshing verdure could not bo 
selected. Withered by the chill breath of ruthless 
Winter, the leaves strew the earth; and, in time, min- 
gle with the dust, like ourselves. The eye cannot help 
■watching how the winds pursue, scatter, whirl, and 
drive these remnants of departed life. 
Xo longer mourn for me when I am dead. 
Then you shall hear the surly, sullen bell 
Give warning to the world that I am fled 
From this vile world, with vilest worms to dwell. 
Nay, if you read this line, remember not 
The hand that writ it, for I love you so. 
That I in your sweet thoughts would be forgot, 
If thinking of me then should work you wo I 
Shahspeare. 
Now shall my verse, which thou in life didst grace, 
Not leave thee in the grave, that ugly place, 
That few regard, or have respect unto : 
Where all attendance and observance ends ; 
Where all the sunshine of our favour sets ; 
Where what was ill no countenance defends, 
And what was good the unthankful world forgets. 
Daaiel. 
