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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=391529" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Greek Funeral Chant Or Myriologue</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">A WAIL was heard around the bed, the death-bed of the young,<br>Amidst her tears the Funeral Chant a mournful mother sung.<br>-'Ianthis! dost thou sleep?-Thou sleep'st!-but this is not the rest,<br>The breathing and the rosy calm, I have pillow'd on my breast!<br>I lull'd thee not to this repose, Ianthis! my sweet son!<br>As in thy glowing childhood's time by twilight I have done!<br>-How is it that I bear to stand and look upon thee now?<br>And that I die not, seeing death on thy pale glorious brow?</div><div style="margin:10px 0">'I look upon thee, thou that wert of all most fair and brave!<br>I see thee wearing still too much of beauty for the grave!<br>Though mournfully thy smile is fix'd, and heavily thine eye<br>Hath shut above the falcon-glance that in it lov'd to lie;<br>And fast is bound the springing step, that seem'd on breezes borne,<br>When to thy couch I came and said,-'Wake, hunter, wake! 'tis morn!'<br>Yet art thou lovely still, my flower! untouch'd by slow decay,<br>-And I, the wither'd stem remain-I would that grief might slay!</div><div style="margin:10px 0">'Oh! ever when I met thy look, I knew that this would be!<br>I knew too well that length of days was not a gift for thee!<br>I saw it in thy kindling cheek, and in thy bearing high;-<br>A voice came whispering to my soul, and told me thou must die!<br>That thou must die, my fearless one! where swords were flashing red.-<br>-Why doth a mother live to say-my first-born and my dead?<br>They tell me of thy youthful fame, they talk of victory won-<br>-Speak thou, and I will hear! my child, Ianthis! my sweet son!'</div><div style="margin:10px 0">A wail was heard around the bed, the deathbed of the young,<br>A fair-hair'd bride the Funeral Chant amidst her weeping sung.<br>-'Ianthis! look'st thou not on me? -Can love indeed be fled?<br>When was it woe before to gaze upon thy stately head?<br>I would that I had follow'd thee, Ianthis, my belov'd!<br>And stood as woman oft hath stood where faithful hearts are prov'd!<br>That I had bound a breastplate on, and battled at thy side-<br>-It would have been a blessed thing together had we died!</div><div style="margin:10px 0">'But where was I when thou didst fall beneath the fatal sword?<br>Was I beside the sparkling fount, or at the peaceful board?<br>Or singing some sweet song of old, in the shadow of the vine,<br>Or praying to the saints for thee, before the holy shrine?<br>And thou wert lying low the while, the life-drops from thy heart<br>Fast gushing like a mountain-spring!-and couldst thou thus depart?<br>Couldst thou depart, nor on my lips pour out thy fleeting breath?<br>-Oh! I was with thee but in joy, that should have been in death!</div><div style="margin:10px 0">'Yes! I was with thee when the dance through mazy rings was led,<br>And when the lyre and voice were tun'd, and when the feast was spread;<br>But not where noble blood flow'd forth, where sounding javelins flew-<br>-Why did I hear love's first sweet words, and not its last adieu?<br>What now can breathe of gladness more, what scene, what hour, what tone?<br>The blue skies fade with all their lights, they fade, since thou art gone!<br>Ev'n that must leave me, that still face, by all my tears unmov'd-<br>-Take me from this dark world with thee, Ianthis! my belov'd!'</div><div style="margin:10px 0">A wail was heard around the bed, the death-bed of the young,<br>Amidst her tears the Funeral Chant a mournful sister sung.<br>'Ianthis! brother of my soul!-oh! where are now the days<br>That laugh'd among the deep green hills, on all our infant plays?<br>When we two sported by the streams, or track'd them to their source,<br>And like a stag's, the rocks along, was thy fleet fearless course!<br>-I see the pines there waving yet, I see the rills descend,<br>I see thy bounding step no more-my brother and my friend!</div><div style="margin:10px 0">'I come with flowers-for spring is come!-Ianthis! art thou here? <br>I bring the garlands she hath brought, I cast them on thy bier!<br>Thou shouldst be crown'd with victory's crown-but oh! more meet they seem,<br>The first faint violets of the wood, and lilies of the stream!<br>More meet for one so fondly lov'd, and laid thus early low-<br>-Alas! how sadly sleeps thy face amidst the sunshine's glow:<br>The golden glow that through thy heart was wont such joy to send,<br>-Woe, that it smiles, and not for thee!-my brother and my friend!'</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Felicia+Dorothea+Hemans">Felicia Dorothea Hemans</a><div class=q>
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<script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=391529" data-title="Greek Funeral Chant Or Myriologue de Felicia Dorothea Hemans" data-description="A WAIL was heard around the bed, the death-bed of the young,
Amidst her tears the Funeral Chant a mournful mother sung.
-'Ianthis! dost thou sleep?-Thou sleep'st!-but this is not the rest,
The breathing and the rosy calm, I have pillow'd on my bre..."></div>
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