Thy tears shall flow, and thou shalt weep
As he has wept who eyes thy sleep,
But weeps no more-his heart is cold,
Warped, sickened, seared, with woes untold.
And be it so! the clouds which roll
Dark, heavy o'er my troubled soul,
Bring with them lightnings which illume,
To shroud the mind in deeper gloom!
But no! dear boy, my earnest prayer
Shall call on Heaven to bless thee here!
Long mayst thou live to love thy kind-
Brave, generous, of a lofty mind!
Thy father live again in thee,
Thy mother long her virtues see
Brightly reflected forth in thine-
Her solace in life's sad decline.
Sleep on! sleep on! but-O my soul,
This is not slumber's soft control!
Boy!-boy! awake-that struggling cry
So faint and low-that agony !
The long, sunk, heavy gasp and groan!
And O, that desolate, last moan!—
My GOD! the infant spirit 's gone!
Are there no tears ?-dark-dark-alone!
'Tis past! farewell! I little thought The mockeries which my fancy wrought,
From fate's dark book were rudely torn!-
That clouds would darken o'er thy morn!
That Death's stern hand would sweep away
The flower just springing to the day!
But wounded hearts must still bleed on!
Enough, enough-GOD'S WILL BE DONE!
The undying hope away of memory born?
Hope of re-union, heart to heart, at last,
No restless doubt between, no rankling thorn?"
I SEE thee still! thou art not dead,
Though dust is mingling with thy form;
The broken sunbeam hath not shed
Its final rainbow on the storm:
In visions of the midnight deep,
Thine accents through my bosom thrill, Till joy's fond impulse bids me weep,For, rapt in thought, I see thee still!
I see thee still,-that cheek of rose,
Those lips, with dewy fragrance wet,
That forehead in serene repose,
Those soul-lit eyes,-I see them yet!
Sweet seraph! Sure, thou art not dead,—
Thou gracest still this earthly sphere,
An influence still is round me shed,
Like thine, and yet thou art not here!
Thou art not here; and never more,
Beneath the pale and sombre sky,
Will thy dear songs around me pour
Their gush of holy melody;
Years may roll on, and Time nay shed
Some casual lustre from his wing;
But my fair May of Love hath fled,
For love hath but one golden spring!
Farewell, beloved! To mortal sight,
Thy vermeil cheek no more may bloom,
No more thy smiles inspire delight,-
For thou art garnered in the tomb.
Rich harvest for that ruthless Power,
Which hath no bound to mar his will:-
Yet, as in hope's unclouded hour,
Throned in my heart, I see thee still!
BLEST the dead, the early dead!
Tears for them shall not be shed:
Mercy gives a gentle doom,
Leads them to the sheltering tomb,
While the sky of life is bright,
Ere the coming on of night.
Those that linger long shall know
Storm and darkness, cold and snow;
But secure in peaceful rest,
Lie the early dead-the blest!
From the spring-time bowers they fled,
Ere one glossy leaf was dead;
While the bee was on the flower,
While the bird sang in the bower;
Fragrance floating all around,
Mingled with delicious sound:-
We shall know them melt away,
They shall mourn not their decay;
Birds shall sing, and roses bloom
O'er the early, envied tomb!
Gone! with buoyant hearts and young,
But, to tones of rapture strung!
Ere the jarring notes of care
Mingled discord with despair-
They shall feel no powers decline,
See not strength nor beauty pine;
Know not friends to death depart;
Never mourn for treachery's smart-
Happy dead!-escaped from pain;
All must feel who yet remain !
Better than the best of life
Is a respite from its strife
Those that live shall sigh for death,
Draw in pain their lingering breath;
But no pang shall ever grieve
Sleep of yours too sweet to leave!
When the "life of life" is o'er,
Life has only death in store-
Joy for those, and triumph high,
Blessed dead, who early die!
WE toil for earth, its shadowy veil
Envelops soul and thought,
And hides that discipline and life,
Within our being wrought.
We chain the thought, we shroud the soul,
And backward turn our glance,
When onward should its vision be,
And upward its advance.
And never may the spirit turn
From that effulgent ray,
It lives forever in the glare
Of an eternal day;
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