The sorceress constructs the funeral pile; the dead man places himself upon it; Erichtho applies the torch, and the charm is ended for ever.
"The Haunters & The Haunted" by Various
Having done so, and left the dead bodies to be consumed in a not ignoble funeral pile, we hurried to the boats.
"Hurricane Hurry" by W.H.G. Kingston
Faggots for an unending funeral pile.
"The Wedding Ring" by T. De Witt Talmage
The dead body of the hero was borne to the funeral pile by the Myrmidons in full panoply.
"Myths and Legends of Ancient Greece and Rome" by E.M. Berens
Who can tell what black spirits settled on the necks of those who bore the wood to make the funeral-pile?
"Christian Gellert's Last Christmas" by Berthold Auerbach
From their funeral piles in flames eagles soar'd; Earth's heroes grew gods, and dead kings were ador'd.
"Translations of German Poetry in American Magazines 1741-1810" by Edward Ziegler Davis
Pionius benumbed the hands of his executioners; and the blood of Polycarp extinguished the flames of his funeral-pile.
"The Temptation of St. Antony" by Gustave Flaubert
Let a funeral pile be built in the square in front of the castle.
"Laboulaye's Fairy Book" by Various
In her long red robe stands the Hindoo widow by the funeral pile.
"Fairy Tales of Hans Christian Andersen" by Hans Christian Andersen
She turns at length to the vassals and commands them to build a great funeral pile.
"The Wagnerian Romances" by Gertrude Hall
Here Dido rears the funeral pile,
And decks it with the Trojan's spoil;
Then seeks her death, and goes a ghost,
For love's disdain, to Stygian coast.
"Love And Wisdom: A Vision" by Robert Alves
"Mother, to this final prayer give ear!
Let a funeral pile be straightway dress'd;
Open then my cell so sad and drear,
That the flames may give the lovers rest!
"The Bride Of Corinth" by Johann Wolfgang von Goethe
Straightway to their fiery grave.
Then hears she the priests and the funeral song,
Then madly she runs, and she severs the throng:
"Why press tow'rd the pile thus? Why scream thus, and rave?"
"The God And The Bayadere - An Indian Legend" by Johann Wolfgang von Goethe
Behind you must you leave your home and land and wife so dear,
And of the trees, except the hated cypresses, you rear,
And which around the funeral piles as signs of mourning grow,
Not one will follow you, their short-lived master, there below.
"To Postumus" by Roswell Martin Field