Classic and Contemporary Poetry
LAST LINES OF THOMAS INGOLDSBY, by RICHARD HARRIS BARHAM Poet's Biography First Line: As I laye a-thynkynge, a-thynkynge, a-thynkynge Last Line: Here is rest!' Alternate Author Name(s): Ingoldsby, Thomas Subject(s): Death; Dead, The | ||||||||
As I laye a-thynkynge, a-thynkynge, a-thynkynge, Merrie sang the Birde as she sat upon the spraye! There came a noble Knyghte, With his hauberke shynynge brighte, And his gallant heart was lyghte, Free and gaye; As I laye a-thynkynge, he rode upon his waye. As I laye a-thynkynge, a-thynkynge, a-thynkynge, Sadly sang the Birde as she sat upon the tree! There seem'd a crimson plain, Where a gallant Knyghte lay slayne, And a steed with broken rein Ran free, As I laye a-thynkynge most pitiful to see As I laye a-thynkynge, a-thynkynge, a-thynkynge, Merrie sang the Birde as she sat upon the boughe; A lovely Mayde came bye, And a gentil youth was nyghe, And he breathed many a syghe And a vowe; As I laye a-thynkynge, her hearte was gladsome now As I laye a-thynkynge, a-thynkynge, a-thynkynge, Sadly sang the Birde as she sat upon the thorne; No more a youth was there, But a Maiden rent her haire, And cried in sad despaire, 'That I was borne!' As I laye a-thynkynge, she perished forlorne. As I laye a-thynkynge, a-thynkynge, a-thynkynge, Sweetly sang the Birde as she sat upon the briar; There came a lovely Childe, And his face was meek and mild, Yet joyously he smiled On his sire; As I laye a-thynkynge, a Cherub mote admire. But I laye a-thynkynge, a-thynkynge, a-thynkynge, And sadly sang the Birde as it perch'd upon a bier; That joyous smile was gone, And the face was white and wan, As the downe upon the Swan Doth appear, As I laye a-thynkynge -- oh! bitter flow'd the tear! As I laye a-thynkynge, the golden sun was sinking, O merrie sang that Birde as it glitter'd on her breast, With a thousand gorgeous dyes, While soaring to the skies, 'Mid the stars she seem'd to rise, As to her nest; As I laye a-thynkynge, her meaning was exprest: -- 'Follow, follow me away, It boots not to delay,' -- 'Twas so she seem'd to saye, 'HERE IS REST!' | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...A FRIEND KILLED IN THE WAR by ANTHONY HECHT FOR JAMES MERRILL: AN ADIEU by ANTHONY HECHT TARANTULA: OR THE DANCE OF DEATH by ANTHONY HECHT CHAMPS D?ÇÖHONNEUR by ERNEST HEMINGWAY NOTE TO REALITY by TONY HOAGLAND EPIGRAM: EHEU FUGACES by RICHARD HARRIS BARHAM NEW-MADE HONOUR (IMITATED FROM MARTIAL) by RICHARD HARRIS BARHAM |
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