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Classic and Contemporary Poetry
EUDORA'S LAMENTATION OVER HER DEAD CHILD, by ELIZABETH TREFUSIS First Line: Make it wide, make it deep, and with moss be it lined Last Line: "now earth shrinks from her view, and the mourner's at rest." | |||
I. Make it wide, make it deep, and with moss be it lin'd, His delicate limbs no rude pebbles shall wound; My babe with its mother in death shall be join'd! Then the lord of my wishes, no longer unkind, May shed a fond tear on the grief-hallow'd ground. Lay it close by my side, Lay it close by my side, 'T is the child of my Edmond? and I -- was his bride. II. Who says that I murder'd the peace of my love, That his heart was another's, his hand only mine? Hush, hush! 't is not true! -- her affection to prove, His Eudora each obstacle soon will remove; Content for his sake every bliss to resign. With my babe on my breast, With my babe on my breast, My heart's lord shall be happy! and I -- be at rest! III. Then if, hand lock'd in hand, o'er my grave they should stray, And vanity smile o'er the ruins of love, Yet let justice and pity instruct them to say, "She merited better, but fate had its way: And now her pure spirit is soaring above! With her babe on her breast. With her babe on her breast, Now earth shrinks from her view, and the mourner's at rest." | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE BOY AND THE BUTTERLFY by ELIZABETH TREFUSIS THE QUARREL by ELIZABETH TREFUSIS TOMMY'S DEAD by SYDNEY THOMPSON DOBELL THE WITCH IN THE GLASS by SARAH MORGAN BRYAN PIATT MORTAL JEALOUSY by PHILIP AYRES THE SCOTTISH CHRISTMAS by WILLIAM EDMONSTOUNE AYTOUN THE HUNTER'S SONG by WILLIAM BASSE SATURDAY IN Y' HOLY WEEK by JOSEPH BEAUMONT |
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