How eloquent, how awful in its power,
The silent lecture of death's sabbath-hour:
One voice that silence breaks-the prayer is said,
And the last rite man pays to man is paid;
The plashing water marks his resting-place,
And fold him round in one long, cold embrace ;
Bright bubbles for a moment sparkle o'er,
Then break, to be, like him, beheld no more;
Down, countless fathoms down, he sinks to sleep,
With all the nameless shapes that haunt the deep.
"I rocked her in the cradle,
And laid her in the tomb. She was the youngest:
What fireside circle hath not felt the charm
Of that sweet tie! The youngest ne'er grow old.
The fond endearments of our earlier days
We keep alive in them, and when they die,
Our youthful joys we bury with them."
Remembrance, faithful to her trust,
Calls thee in beauty from the dust;
Thou comest in the morning light,
Thou'rt with me through the gloomy night;
In dreams I meet thee as of old;
Then thy soft arms my neck enfold,
And thy sweet voice is in my ear;
In every scene to memory dear,
I see thee still.
In every hallow'd token round;
This little ring thy finger bound,
This lock of hair thy forehead shaded,
This silken chain by thee was braided,
These flowers, all withered now, like thee,
Sweet sister, thou didst cull for me;
This book was thine, here didst thou read;
This picture, ah! yes, here, indeed,
Here was thy summer noon's retreat,
Here was thy favourite fireside seat;
This was thy chamber-here, each day,
I sat and watch'd thy sad decay;
Here, on this bed, thou last didst lie,
Here, on this pillow, thou didst die :
Dark hour! once more its woes unfold;
As then I saw thee, pale and cold,
I see thee still.
Thou art not in the grave confined-
Death cannot claim the immortal Mind;
Let Earth close o'er its sacred trust,
But goodness dies not in the dust;
Thee, oh! my sister, 'tis not thee
Beneath the coffin's lid I see;
Thou to a fairer land art gone:
There, let me hope, my journey done,
To see thee still!
Written on occasion of the accidental meeting of all the surviving members of a family.
WE are all here!
Father, Mother,
Sister, Brother,
All who hold each other dear.
Each chair is filled-we're all at home:
To-night let no cold stranger come:
It is not often thus around
Our old familiar hearth we're found:
Bless, then, the meeting and the spot;
For once be every care forgot;
Let gentle Peace assert her power,
And kind Affection rule the hour;
We're all-all here.
Some are away-the dead ones dear,
Who thronged with us this ancient hearth,
And gave the hour to guiltless mirth.
Fate, with a stern, relentless hand,
Looked in and thinned our little band:
Some like a night-flash passed away,
And some sank, lingering, day by day;
The quiet graveyard-some lie there-
And cruel Ocean has his share-
Even they-the dead-though dead, so dear;
Fond Memory, to her duty true,
Brings back their faded forms to view.
How life-like, through the mist of years,
Each well-remembered face appears!
We see them as in times long past,
From each to each kind looks are cast;
We hear their words, their smiles behold,
They're round us as they were of old—
We are all here.
We are all here!
Father, Mother,
Sister, Brother,
You that I love with love so dear.
This may not long of us be said;
Soon must we join the gathered dead;
And by the hearth we now sit round,
Some other circle will be found.
Oh! then, that wisdom may we know,
Which yields a life of peace below;
So, in the world to follow this,
May each repeat, in words of bliss,
We're all-all here!
Two swallows, having flown into church during divine service, were apostrophized in the following stanzas.
What seek ye from the fields of heaven?
Ye have no need of prayer,
Ye have no sins to be forgiven.
Why perch ye here,
Where mortals to their Maker bend?
Can your pure spirits fear
The God ye never could offend?
The crimes for which we come to weep:
Penance is not for you,
Bless'd wanderers of the upper deep.
To wake sweet nature's untaught lays:
Beneath the arch of heaven
To chirp away a life of praise.
Then spread each wing,
Far, far above, o'er lakes and lands,
And join the choirs that sing
In yon blue dome not rear'd with hands.
To note the consecrated hour,
Teach me the airy way,
And let me try your envied power.
On upward wings could I but fly,
I'd bathe in yon bright cloud,
And seek the stars that gem the sky.
"Twere heaven indeed,
Through fields of trackless light to soar,
On nature's charms to feed,
And nature's own great God adore.
WHY is that graceful female here,
With yon red hunter of the deer?
Of gentle mien and shape, she seems
For civil halls design'd,
Yet with the stately savage walks
As she were of his kind.
Look on her leafy diadem,
Enrich'd with many a floral gem:
Those simple ornaments about
Her candid brow, disclose
The loitering Spring's last violet,
And Summer's earliest rose;
But not a flower lies breathing there,
Sweet as herself, or half go fair.
Exchanging lustre with the sun,
A part of day she strays;
A glancing, living, human smile,
On nature's face she plays.
Can none instruct me what are these
Companions of the lofty trees?
Intent to blend with his her lot,
Fate form'd her all that he was not;
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