Raise high, Sicilian Muses,
Raise high the mournful cry,
The mallows in the woodlands
Whene’er they fade and die,
And the dill, and the green parsley,
When they grow wan and sere,
Live on again, though dead a while,
And flower another year.
But we, the great, the noble men,
The mighty, and the wise,
Whene’er our term of life is past,
And our frail body dies,
Lie down for ever, evermore
Beneath earth’s hollow deep,
And undisturbed for ever
Lie low in death’s long sleep.
_MERCY HARVEY_
(_ST. HILDA’S HALL_)