Hic jacet.
Let not a bell be toll'd, or tear be shed
When I am dead:—
Let no night-dog, with dreary howl,
Or ghastly shriek of boding owl
Make harsh a change so calm, so hallowed.—
Lay not my bed
'Mid yews, and never-blooming cypresses;
But under trees
Of simple flow'r and odorous breath,
The lime and dog-rose, and beneath
Let primrose-cups give up their honied lees
To sucking bees;
Who all the shining day, while labouring,
Shall drink and sing
A requiem o'er my peaceful grave.
For I would cheerful quiet have,
Or, no noise ruder than the linnet's wing
Or brook gurgling.
In harmony I've liv'd;—so let me die,
That while 'mid gentler sounds this shell doth lie,
The Spirit aloft may float in spheral harmony.
The Rev. John Mitford's review of Nyren's book, on p. 121, was printed in the Gentleman's Magazine for July and September, 1833. Mr. Mitford was then Rector of Benhall in Suffolk, and was 'Sylvanus Urban' too. He had peculiar opportunities of writing with knowledge of the early game, for he kept a Nestor on the premises, in the person of old Fennex, who had been an All England man for years.
'Mr. Mitford,' wrote Mr. Pycroft in his Oxford
