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About evermore we bear thee; For who from the heart can tear thee? Vainly we sprinkle o'er us The drops of the cleansing stream; And vainly bright before us The lustral fire shall beam. For where is the charm expelling Thy thought from its sacred dwelling? Our griefs are thy funeral feast, And Memory thy mourning priest. Salve salve! Ilicet ire licet!
The Preacher and Omar and Swinburne are pathetically human, and we who are also human respond to their finality, to their quizzical indifference and their stinging resentment. We also say, "Vanity of vanities," and bow our heads murmuring "Ilicet," and stretch out our hands to "turn down an empty glass," but all this in twilight moods when a dimness as of dying rests upon the soul.
Bereaved and broken-hearted, To earth the mourners turn. To the dim and dreary shore, Thou art gone our steps before! But thither the swift Hours lead us, And thou dost but a while precede us, Salve salve! Loved urn, and thou solemn cell, Mute ashes! farewell, farewell! Salve salve! Ilicet ire licet Ah, vainly would we part! Thy tomb is the faithful heart.
I fear the piece is at an end with the King of Prussia, and he may say 'ilicet'; I am sure he may personally say 'plaudite'. Warm work is expected this session of parliament, about continent and no continent; some think Mr. Pitt too continent, others too little so; but a little time, as the newspapers most prudently and truly observe, will clear up these matters.
I fear the piece is at an end with the King of Prussia, and he may say 'ilicet'; I am sure he may personally say 'plaudite'. Warm work is expected this session of parliament, about continent and no continent; some think Mr. Pitt too continent, others too little so; but a little time, as the newspapers most prudently and truly observe, will clear up these matters.
No words were uttered to disturb the sound of the ceremony, until the flames died out, and, the smouldering embers quenched with wine, Thrasea, as the nearest relative of the deceased, gathered the ashes and inurned them, when they were duly labelled and consigned to their niche in the columbarium; and then, the final Ilicet pronounced, the sad solemnity was ended.
When the above ceremonies were over, one of the Praeficae three times sprinkled the mourners from the purifying branch of laurel, uttering the last word, 'Ilicet! Depart! and the rite was done. But first they paused to utter weepingly and many times the affecting farewell, 'Salve Eternum! And as Ione yet lingered, they woke the parting strain. Farewell! O soul departed! Farewell! O sacred urn!
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