funeral flowers. 1G3 
The pale rose, the dim azure-bell, 
And that lamenting flower, 
O 7 
With ai! ai! its eternal knell, 
Shall over-bloom her bovver— 
\ 
Her cypress bower ; whose shade beneath 
Passionless she shall lie ; 
To rest so calm, so sweet in death, 
’Twere no great ill to die ! 
Ye four fair maids, the fairest ye, 
Be ye the flower-strewers ! 
Ye four bright youths the bearers be, 
Ye were her fondest wooers ! 
To church ! to church ! ungallant youth, 
Carry your willing bride ! 
So pale he looks ! ’twere well, in sooth, 
He should lie by her side ! 
The bed is laid, the toll is done, 
The ready priest doth stand ; 
Come, let the flowers be strown, be strown, 
Strike up ye bridal band ! 
