Strike the bella wantouly, Tinkle, tinkle well ; Bring me wine, bring me flowera, Ring the silver bell. All my lampa burn scented oil, Hung on laden orauge-trees, Whose ahadowed foliage is the foil To golden lamps aDd oranges. Heap my golden platea with fruit, Golden fruit, fresh-pluoked and ripe ; Strike the bells and breathe the pipe ; Shut out showera trom summer-hours ; Silence that complaining lute ; Shut out thinking, shut out pain, From hours that caunot come again. Ring the bells solemnly, Ding dong deep: 11 V friend is passing to hia bed, Faatasleep; There's plaited linen round his head, While foremost go hia f eet - His feet that cannot carry him. My feaat's a shov, my lights are dim ; Be still ; your music is not sweet - There is no muñe more for him : His lighte are out, his feast is done, Hia bowl that sparkled to the brim Ia dramed, is broken, cannot hold. My blood is chili, his blood ia cold ; His death is ful!, and mine begun.