Man, husband existence: ne'er launch on the sea
Out of season: our tenure of life is but frai.
Think of poor Cleonicus: for Phasos sailed he
From the valleys of Syria, with many a bale:
With many a bale, ocean's tides he would stem
When the Pleiads were sinking; and he sank with them.

The babe Medeius to his Thracian nurse
This stone-inscribed To Cleita-reared in the midhighway.
Her modest virtues oft shall men rehearse;
Who doubts it? Is not 'Cleita's worth' a proverb to this day?

Beneath this sod lie the remains
Of one who died of growing pains.

On The Death of Edward Forbes

Nature, a jealous mistress, laid him low.
He woo'd and won her; and, by love made bold,
She showed him more than mortal man should know,
Then slew him lest her secret should be told.

With death doom'd to grapple,
Beneath this cold slab, he
Who lied in the Chapel
Now lies in the Abbey.

Blame us for these who were cradled and rocked in our chaos;
Watching our sidelong watching, fearing our fear;
Playing their blind-man's-bluff in our gutted mansions,
Their follow-my-leader on a stair that ended in air.


Submitted by Stephen Fryer

Nobles and Heralds, by your leave,
Here lies what once was Matthew Prior,
The son of Adam and of Eve;
Can Stuart or Nassau claim higher.

Four thousand of us fought three million.
When you visit Sparta, tell them:
Here, the soldiers kept their word.

Nobles and Heralds, by your leave!
Here lie the bones of Matthew Prior;
A son of Adam and Eve:
Let Bourbon or Nassau go higher.

An old willow with hollow branches
slowly swayed his few high gright tendrils
and sang:

Love is a young green willow
shimmering at the bare wood's edge.