 | The poetical works of Henry Kirke White |  |
THE DANCE OF THE CONSUMPTIVES.
Ding-dong! ding-dong!
Merry, merry, go the bells,
Ding-dong! ding-dong!
Over the heath, over the moor, and over the dale,
“Swinging slow with sullen roar,”
Dance, dance away the jocund roundelay!
Ding-dong, ding-dong calls us away.
Merry, merry, go the bells,
Ding-dong! ding-dong!
Over the heath, over the moor, and over the dale,
“Swinging slow with sullen roar,”
Dance, dance away the jocund roundelay!
Ding-dong, ding-dong calls us away.
Round the oak, and round the elm,
Merrily foot it o'er the ground!
The sentry ghost it stands aloof,
So merrily, merrily foot it round.
Ding-dong! ding-dong!
Merry, merry, go the bells,
Swelling in the nightly gale,
The sentry ghost,
It keeps its post,
And soon, and soon our sports must fail:
But let us trip the nightly round,
While the merry, merry bells ring round.
Merrily foot it o'er the ground!
The sentry ghost it stands aloof,
So merrily, merrily foot it round.
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Merry, merry, go the bells,
Swelling in the nightly gale,
The sentry ghost,
It keeps its post,
And soon, and soon our sports must fail:
But let us trip the nightly round,
While the merry, merry bells ring round.
Hark! hark! the deathwatch ticks!
See, see, the winding-sheet!
Our dance is done,
Our race is run,
And we must lie at the alder's feet!
Ding-dong! ding-dong!
Merry, merry, go the bells,
Swinging o'er the weltering wave!
And we must seek
Our deathbeds bleak,
Where the green sod grows upon the grave.
They vanish—The Goddess of Consumption descends, habited
in a sky-blue robe, attended by mournful music.See, see, the winding-sheet!
Our dance is done,
Our race is run,
And we must lie at the alder's feet!
Ding-dong! ding-dong!
Merry, merry, go the bells,
Swinging o'er the weltering wave!
And we must seek
Our deathbeds bleak,
Where the green sod grows upon the grave.
| The poetical works of Henry Kirke White | |