IF with his fathers he had fallen asleep,
Far different would have been this drear lyke-wake.
Lonely and lampless lies he, for whose sake
Many might well a night-long vigil keep,
And, though we have not time nor heart to weep,
Yet fain would we some slight observance make,
E'er sad to-morrow's earliest dawn shall break
When he must lie yet darker and more deep.
Therefore we've laid him 'neath a chestnut tree,
That bears a myriad candles all alight,
And faintly glimmering through the starry gloom—
No dimmer than a holy vault might be—
It sheds abroad upon the quiet night
A gentle radiance and a faint perfume.