Viii

Ah, but while loud merry-making Sets the lights and shadows shaking, While the mad world casts away Every thought that is not gay,

Hath not earth, our sweet step-mother, Very different scene hard by, Tossing one, and trampling other, Some to laugh, and some to sigh?

Where the fane of Hathor Iowereth, And the black Myrike embowereth, Weepeth one her life gone by; Over young, oh death, to die!