GRAVE WATCHING.

BRING flowers and strew them here,

The loveliest of the year,

Wither'd, yet fragrant as her virgin fame,
Who slumbers in this sunny spot,

Yet to love's voice awaketh not,

Nor hears in dreams her lover sigh her name.

Where woods o'er waters wave

She hath her early grave,

And summer breathes lone music o'er the scene;

It is a green and bloomy place,

And smiling like her living face,

Whom memory weeps o'er, sighing "She hath been!"

How sacred silence lies

With dreamy heart-filled eyes,

Shedding its spirit o'er the wanderer's heart,

Beside the mound of dust,

Where, throned, sit hope and trust,

Serenely watching awful death depart.

In sooth, 't were bliss to rest
On nature's rosy breast

60

GRAVE WATCHING.

'Mid all this sweetness, quiet, faith, and love, While heaven's soft airs flit round

The still and hallowed ground,

And the blue skies lift the pure

soul above.

Albeit, I can but grieve

That thou, pale girl! didst leave Thy lover lone in such a world as this, Yet tender is my heart's regret

As the last beam of suns that set

To rise again, like thee, my love! in bliss.

Then let me linger here,

Where none of earth appear,

Save gentle spirits, kindred of the skies,
And muse beside the gushing spring,

Where wild birds carol on the wing,
And live as thou didst, love! on harmonies.

O'er this green bank of flowers

Hover the dew-eyed hours,

Blending the incense breath of earth and heaven,

As thou didst hallow time

By thoughts and deeds sublime,

And seal eternal bliss by wrongs forgiven.

Inspire me with thy soul,

And, while the seasons roll,

No evil passion shall corrode my spirit!

I can forgive my fiercest foes,

And think not o'er inflicted woes,

While I thy gentle soul, lost love! inherit.

GRAVE WATCHING.

61

What holy joy attends

Such commerce with lost friends,

Lost to our eyes but living in our minds!
Their memories breathe elysian bliss
Around e'en such a world as this,

Like Yemen's odours borne on genial winds.

Bring flowers and strew them here,
The loveliest of the year,

And I will watch their spirits as they part;
For in a place so green and still,

'Mid wood and water, vale and hill,

My lost love dwells for ever in

my heart!

PERE LA CHAISE.*

BEAUTIFUL city of the dead! thou stand'st
Ever amid the bloom of sunny skies

And blush of odours, and the stars of heaven
Look, with a mild and holy eloquence,
Upon thee, realm of silence! Diamond dew
And vernal rain and sunlight and sweet airs
Forever visit thee; and morn and eve

Dawn first and linger longest on thy tombs
Crown'd with their wreaths of love and rendering back
From their wrought columns all the glorious beams,
That herald morn or bathe in trembling light
The calm and holy brow of shadowy eve.
Empire of pallid shades! though thou art near
The noisy traffic and thronged intercourse
Of man, yet stillness sleeps, with drooping eyes
And meditative brow, forever round
Thy bright and sunny borders; and the trees,
That shadow thy fair monuments, are green
Like hope that watches o'er the dead, or love
That crowns their memories; and lonely birds

*The Cemetery of Paris.

PERE LA CHAISE.

Lift up their simple songs amid the boughs,
And with a gentle voice, wail o'er the lost,
The gifted and the beautiful, as they
Were parted spirits hovering o'er dead forms
Till judgment summons earth to its account.

Here 't is a bliss to wander when the clouds
Paint the pale azure, scattering o'er the scene
Sunlight and shadow, mingled yet distinct,

And the broad olive leaves, like human sighs,
Answer the whispering zephyr, and soft buds
Unfold their hearts to the sweet west wind's kiss,
And Nature dwells in solitude, like all

Who sleep in silence here, their names and deeds
Living in sorrow's verdant memory.

Let me forsake the cold and crushing world

And hold communion with the dead! then thought,
The silent angel language heaven doth hear,
Pervades the universe of things and gives
To earth the deathless hues of happier climes.

All, who repose undreaming here, were laid In their last rest with many prayers and tears, The humblest as the proudest was bewailed, Though few were near to give the burial pomp. Lone watchings have been here, and sighs have risen Oft o'er the grave of love, and many hearts Gone forth to meet the world's smile desolate.

The saint, with scrip and staff, and scallop-shell And crucifix, hath closed his wanderings here;

63

1