Coronach, or Death-Wail

Charles Mackay

1814 to 1889

Poem Image
Coronach, or Death-Wail - Track 1

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Wail! Wail!
For a sun hath set,
Which no returning morrow 
Shall ever call 
From the darksome pail,
To beam upon our sorrow!
Moan! Moan!
O'er his dwelling lone,
As ye heap the clod above him:
Dead! Dead!
His soul hath fled
From the hearts that lived to love him!

Wail! Wail!
Though our tears be vain,
For the soul in glory shining!
Yet how can those 
Who have seen his close 
Forbear for awhile repining?
Moan! Moan! 
O’er the narrow stone;
Body and soul must sever!
Dead! Dead!
His spirit hath fled.
And a star hath set for ever!