Page:Oxford Book of English Verse 1250-1918.djvu/142

 SIR WALTER RALEIGH

��86 His Pilgrimage

1 IVE me my scallop-shell of quiet,

My staff of faith to walk upon, My scrip of joy, immortal diet,

My bottle of salvation, My gown of glory, hope's true gage; And thus I'll take my pilgrimage.

Blood must be my body's balmer; No other balm will there be given;

Whilst my soul, like quiet palmer,

Travelled! towards the land of heaven ;

Over the silver mountains,

Where spring the nectar fountains; There will I kiss The bowl of bliss, And drink mine everlasting fill Upon every mil ken hill. My soul will be a-dry before; But, after, it will thirst no more.

��E V

��<?7 The Conclusion

VVEN such is Time, that takes in trust Our youth, our joys, our all we Im e, And pays us but with earth and dust; Who in the dark and silent grave, When we have wander'd all our ways, Shuts up the story of our days; But from this earth, this grave, this dust, My God shall raise me up, I trust.

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