Page:Essays - Abraham Cowley (1886).djvu/191



, beneath his household shrine
 * Here Cowley lies, closed in a little den;

A life too empty and his lot combine
 * To give him rest from all the toils of men.

Not shining with unseemly shows of want,
 * Nor noble with the indolence of ease;

Fearless of spirit as a combatant
 * With mob-loved wealth and all its devotees.

That yon may fairly speak of him as dead,
 * Behold how little earth contents him now!

Pray, wayfarer, that all his cares be fled.
 * And that the earth lie lightly on his brow.

Strew flowers here, strew roses soon to perish,
 * For the dead life joys in all flowers that blow;

Crown with sweet herbs. bank blossoms high, to cherish
 * The poet's ashes that are yet aglow.

Author:Henry Morley.