the lark at heaven's gate sings," and the other is the dirge beginning: "Fear no more the heat o' the sun.

In the arms of the kind all-mother, but close to the sorrowful wave, With its voice no longer moaning to her a despairing call, But a dirge deploring and deep; we will make her grave, With healing grasses above her, and God over all.

Shout, and fill the hirlass horn, Round the dirge-feast quaff till morn; Songs and joy sound o'er the heath, For he died the warrior's death!

I hear the midnight bell, Pealing forth its funeral knell; Now its tones sound loud and clear Now low and dirge-like, strike the ear, Solemn and slow, they seem to fall, Upon the listening ear of all.

There are the dirge notes in Lycidas; the sights, sounds, and odors of the country, in L'Allegro; the delights of "the studious cloister's pale," in Il Penseroso; the impelling presence of his "great Task-Master," in the sonnets.