Page:Oxford Book of English Verse 1250-1900.djvu/263

 My love was false, but I was firm From my hour of birth. Upon my buried body lie Lightly, gentle earth!

210. Hymn to Pan

Sing his praises that doth keep Our flocks from harm, Pan, the father of our sheep; And arm in arm Tread we softly in a round, Whilst the hollow neighbouring ground Fills the music with her sound.

Pan, O great god Pan, to thee Thus do we sing! Thou who keep'st us chaste and free As the young spring: Ever be thy honour spoke From that place the morn is broke To that place day doth unyoke!

211. Away, Delights

Away, delights! go seek some other dwelling, For I must die. Farewell, false love! thy tongue is ever telling Lie after lie. For ever let me rest now from thy smarts; Alas, for pity go         And fire their hearts That have been hard to thee! Mine was not so.