Faring thro' many a folk and
plowing many a sea-plain,
These sad funeral-rites
(Brother!) to deal thee I come,
So wi' the latest boons to
the dead bestowed I may gift thee,
And I may vainly address
ashes that answer have none,
Sithence of thee, very thee,
to deprive me Fortune behested,
Woe for thee, Brother
forlore! Cruelly severed fro' me.
Yet in the meanwhile now what
olden usage of forbears,
Brings as the boons that
befit mournfullest funeral rites,
Thine be these gifts which
flow with tear-flood shed by thy brother,
And for ever and aye
(Brother!) all hail and farewell.
Carmina (ed. Sir Richard Francis Burton) poem 101.
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