His pale lyppes, alas! Twenty times she kissed, And his face did wash With her trickling teares; Every gaping wound Tenderlye she pressed, And did wipe it round’ With her golden haires. “Speake, faire love,” quoth shee, “Speake, faire prince, to mee; One sweete word of comfort give: Lift up thy deare eyes, Listen to my cryes, Thinke in what sad griefe I live.” All in vaine she sued, All in vaine she wooed; The prince’s life was fled and gone. _Pepys Collection._ DYING INJUNCTION. When our dear parents died, they died together; One fate surprised them, and one grave received them. My father with his dying breath bequeathed Her to my love; my mother, as she lay Languishing by him, called me to her side, Took me in her fainting arms, wept, and embraced me; Then pressed me close, and, as she observed my tears, Kissed them away. Said she, Chamont, my son, By this, and all the love I ever showed thee, Be careful of Monimia, watch her youth, Let not her wants betray her to dishonor; Perhaps kind heaven may raise some friend; then sighed, Kissed me again; so blessed us, and expired. OTWAY: _Orphan_. FAITHFUL UNTO DEATH. ’Tis she,—far off, through moonlight dim, He knew his own betrothèd bride, She who would rather die with him Than live to gain the world beside! Her arms are round her lover now, His livid cheek to hers she presses, And dips, to bind his burning brow, In the cool lake her loosened tresses. ... One struggle, and his pain is past, Her lover is no longer living! One kiss the maiden gives, one last, Long kiss, which she expires in giving! MOORE: _Lalla Rookh_. THE LAST OBSERVANCE. Oh, may I view thee with life’s parting ray, And thy dear hand with dying ardor press; Sure thou wilt weep, and on thy lover’s clay With breaking heart print many a tender kiss. ... On my cold lips thy kisses thou wouldst fix, While flowing tears with thy dear kisses mix. TIBULLUS: _Elegy I._ THE EXILES. With louder plaints the mother spoke her woes, And blest the cot where every pleasure rose; And kissed her thoughtless babes with many a tear, And clasped them close, in sorrow doubly dear. GOLDSMITH: _Deserted Village_. “ORATE HIC PRO ME.” They went with speed to the dungeon-door; The air was chill and damp; And the pale girl lay on the marble floor, Beside the dying lamp; They kissed her lips, they called her name, No kiss returned, no answer came. Motionless, lifeless, there she lay, Like a statue rent from its base away. PRAED. JEPHTHAH’S DAUGHTER.