Song

We do lie beneath the grass

In the moonlight, in the shade

Of the yew-tree. They that pass

Hear us not. We are afraid

They would envy our delight,

In our graves by glow-worm night.

Come follow us, and smile as we;

We sail to the rock in the ancient waves,

Where the snow falls by thousands into the sea,

And the drown'd and the shipwreck'd have happy graves.