O lead me wheresoe'er I go, Through this day's life or death! This day, be bread and peace my lot: Thou know'st if best bestow'd or not, To Thee, whose Temple is all space, One chorus let all Being raise! All nature's incense rise! THE FRIAR OF ORDERS GREY. FIRST PUBLISHED BY DR. PERCY. Ir was a Friar of Orders Grey Walk'd forth to tell his beads; And he met with a lady fair, Clad in a pilgrim's weeds. "Now Christ thee save, thou reverend Friar, 5 I pray thee tell to me, If ever at yon holy shrine My true-love thou didst see." "And how should I know your true-love But chiefly by his face and mien, His flaxen locks that sweetly curl'd, "O Lady, he is dead and gone! And at his heels a stone. "Within these holy cloisters long He languish'd, and he died, Lamenting of a lady's love, 20 And 'plaining of her pride. "Here bore him barefaced on his bier 25 Six proper youths and tall, And many a tear bedew'd his grave "And art thou dead, thou gentle youth! "O weep not, Lady, weep not so; Let not vain sorrow rive thy heart, "O do not, do not, holy Friar, My sorrow now reprove; For I have lost the sweetest youth, That e'er won lady's love. "And now, alas! for thy sad loss, I'll evermore weep and sigh; For thee I only wish'd to live, For thee I wish to die." "Weep no more, Lady, weep no more, Thy sorrow is in vain: For violets pluck'd the sweetest showers "Our joys as winged dreams do fly, Why then should sorrow last? Since grief but aggravates thy loss, Grieve not for what is past.” 50 "O say not so, thou holy Friar; I pray thee, say not so: For since my true love died for me, 55 'T is meet my tears should flow. "And will he never come again? Will he ne'er come again? Ah! no, he is dead and laid in his grave, For ever to remain. 60 "His cheek was redder than the rose; The comeliest youth was he! But he is dead and laid in his grave: Alas, and woe is me!" "Sigh no more, Lady, sigh no more, 65 Men were deceivers ever: One foot on sea and one on land, To one thing constant never. "Hadst thou been fond, he had been false, And left thee sad and heavy; For young men ever were fickle found, "Now say not so, thou holy Friar; I pray thee say not so: 70 75 "And art thou dead, thou much-loved youth, And didst thou die for me? Then farewell home; for evermore A pilgrim I will be. "But first upon my true-love's grave My weary limbs I 'll lay, And thrice I'll kiss the green-grass turf, That wraps his breathless clay." "Yet stay, fair Lady; rest awhile Beneath this cloister wall: 80 85 See, through the hawthorn blows the cold wind, And drizzly rain doth fall." "O stay me not, thou holy Friar; O stay me not, I pray; No drizzly rain that falls on me my "Yet stay, fair Lady, turn again, And dry those pearly tears; For see beneath this gown of grey Thy own true-love appears. "Here, forced by grief and hopeless love, These holy weeds I sought; And here amid these lonely walls To end my days I thought. "But haply, for my year of grace Is not yet pass'd away, 90 95 100 Might I still hope to win thy love, No longer would I stay.” "Now farewell grief, and welcome joy 105 Once more unto my heart: For since I've found thee, lovely youth, THE FIRE-SIDE. DEAR Chloe, while the busy crowd, Be call'd our choice, we 'll step aside, From the gay world we 'll oft retire Where love our hours employs; If solid happiness we prize, From our own selves our joys must flow, Of rest was Noah's dove bereft, That safe retreat, the ark; Giving her vain excursions o'er, |