"Till then, shut out those sights and sounds, And pray God pardon me That I without this pain no more His blessed works can see! And lean beside me, loving nurse, That thou mayst hear, ere I am worse, What thy last love should be." IV. The loving nurse leant over her, As white she lay beneath; The old eyes searching, dim with life, The young ones dim with death, To read their look if sound forsook The trying, trembling breath. V. "When all this feeble breath is done, And I on bier am laid, My tresses smoothed for never a feast, My body in shroud arrayed, Uplift each palm in a saintly calm, As if that still I prayed. VI. "And heap beneath mine head the flowers You stoop so low to pull, The little white flowers from the wood Which grow there in the cool, Which _he_ and I, in childhood's games, Went plucking, knowing not their names, And filled thine apron full. VII. "Weep not! _I_ weep not. Death is strong, The eyes of Death are dry! But lay this scroll upon my breast When hushed its heavings lie, And wait awhile for the corpse's smile Which shineth presently. VIII. "And when it shineth, straightway call Thy youngest children dear, And bid them gently carry me All barefaced on the bier; But bid them pass my kirkyard grass That waveth long anear. IX. "And up the bank where I used to sit And dream what life would be, Along the brook with its sunny look Akin to living glee,-- O'er the windy hill, through the forest still, Let them gently carry me. X. "And through the piny forest still, And down the open moorland Round where the sea beats mistily And blindly on the foreland; And let them chant that hymn I know, Bearing me soft, bearing me slow, To the ancient hall of Courland. XI. "And when withal they near the hall, In silence let them lay My bier before the bolted door, And leave it for a day: For I have vowed, though I am proud, To go there as a guest in shroud, And not be turned away." XII. The old nurse looked within her eyes Whose mutual look was gone; The old nurse stooped upon her mouth, Whose answering voice was done; And nought she heard, till a little bird Upon the casement's woodbine swinging Broke out into a loud sweet singing For joy o' the summer sun: "Alack! alack!"--she watched no more, With head on knee she wailèd sore, And the little bird sang o'er and o'er For joy o' the summer sun. PART THE FIFTH. SHOWING HOW THE VOW WAS BROKEN. I. The poet oped his bolted door The midnight sky to view; A spirit-feel was in the air Which seemed to touch his spirit bare Whenever his breath he drew; And the stars a liquid softness had, As alone their holiness forbade Their falling with the dew. II.