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Walter Scott - The Dying Gipsy Smuggler
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Wasted, weary, wherefore stay,
Wrestling thus with earth and clay?
From the body pass away;—
       Hark! the mass is singing.

From thee doff thy mortal weed,
Mary Mother be thy speed,
Saints to help thee at thy need;—
       Hark! the knell is ringing.

Fear not snow-drift driving fast,
Sleet, or hail, or levin blast;
Soon the shroud shall lap thee fast,
And the sleep be on thee cast
       That shall ne`er know waking.

Haste thee, haste thee, to be gone,
Earth flits fast, and time draws on,—
Gasp thy gasp, and groan thy groan,
       Day is near the breaking.
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