THANATOPSIS. To him who in the love of Nature holds Communion with her visible forms, she speaks A various language for his gayer hours She has a voice of gladness, and a smile And eloquence of beauty, and she glides Into his darker musings, with a mild And healing sympathy, that steals away Their sharpness, ere he is aware. When thoughts Of the last bitter hour come like a blight Over thy spirit, and sad images Of the stern agony, and shroud, and pall, And breathless darkness, and the narrow house, Nor in the embrace of ocean, shall exist Thy image. Earth, that nourished thee, shall claim To mix for ever with the elements, To be a brother to the insensible rock And to the sluggish clod, which the rude swain Yet not to thine eternal resting-place In majesty, and the complaining brooks That make the meadows green; and, poured round all, Old ocean's gray and melancholy waste, Are but the solemn decorations all Of the great tomb of man. The golden sun, The planets, all the infinite host of heaven, Are shining on the sad abodes of death, So shalt thou rest-and what if thou withdraw The youth in life's green spring, and he who goes In the full strength of years, matron, and maid,. And the sweet babe, and the gray-headed man,Shall one by one be gathered to thy side, By those, who in their turn shall follow them. So live, that when thy summons comes to join The innumerable caravan, that moves To that mysterious realm, where each shall take His chamber in the silent halls of death, 2 8 Thou go not like the quarry-slave at night, Scourged to his dungeon, but, sustained and soothed By an unfaltering trust, approach thy grave, Like one who wraps the drapery of his couch THE YELLOW VIOLET. WHEN beechen buds begin to swell, And woods the blue-bird's warble know, The yellow violet's modest bell Peeps from the last year's leaves below. Ere russet fields their green resume, Of all her train, the hands of Spring Beside the snow-bank's edges cold. Thy parent sun, who bade thee view Pale skies, and chilling moisture sip, Has bathed thee in his own bright hue, And streaked with jet thy glowing lip. |