Page:Poems Holford.djvu/117

"Oh, their Lord sleeps under the damp green stone,
And his soul is gone to heaven!

 "And the gale that flutters thro' scented groves,
And the lark that skims the sky,
And the mountain kid that merrily roves,
Are not less fetter'd than I."

 Then she gave her hand to the gallant gay
(Already her heart was dancing,)
And blythe to the crowd she hasten'd away,
Where nimble feet were glancing.

 Now floated a damp and earthy smell,
Twas like a church-yard vapour!
And a ghastly mist o'er the dancers fell,
And dimm'd each struggling taper;