As the carriage rolls down the dark street The little wife laughs and makes cheer- But... I wonder what day of the week, I wonder what month of the year.
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, Make thee to shudder, and grow sick at heart ;- Go forth, under the open sky, and list
To Nature's teachings, while from all around- Earth and her waters, and the depths of air,— Comes a still voice-Yet a few days, and thee The all-beholding sun shall see no more In all his course; nor yet in the cold ground, Where thy pale form was laid, with many tears, Nor in the embrace of ocean, shall exist
Thy image. Earth, that nourish'd thee, shall claim Thy growth, to be resolved to earth again,
And, lost each human trace, surrendering up Thine individual being, shalt thou go
eternal resting- "THE SOLEMN BROOD OF CARE PLOD ON." place
Shalt thou retire alone,- -nor couldst thou wish Couch more magnificent. Thou shalt lie down With patriarchs of the infant world—with kings, The powerful of the earth--the wise, the good, Fair forms, and hoary seers of ages past, All in one mighty sepulchre. The hills Rock-ribb'd and ancient as the sun; the vales Stretching in pensive quietness between; The venerable woods; rivers that move In majesty, and the complaining brooks
That make the meadows green; and, pour'd round all,
Old Ocean's gray and melancholy waste,—
Are but the solemn decorations all
Of the great tomb of man.
The planets, all the infinite host of heaven, Are shining on the sad abodes of death, Through the still lapse of ages. All that tread The globe are but a handful to the tribes That slumber in its bosom.-Take the wings Of morning, pierce the Barcan wilderness, Or lose thyself in the continuous woods Where rolls the Oregon, and hears no sound Save his own dashings—yet the dead are there: And millions in those solitudes, since first The flight of years began, have laid them down In their last sleep—the dead reign there alone. So shalt thou rest, and what if thou withdraw In silence from the living, and no friend Take note of thy departure? All that breathe Will share thy destiny. The gay will laugh When thou art gone, the solemn brood of care Plod on, and each one as before will chase His favorite phantom; yet all these shall leave Their mirth and their employments, and shali
And make their bed with thee. As the long train Of ages glide away, the sons of men,
The youth in life's green spring, and he who goes In the full strength of years, matron and maid, The speechless babe, and the gray-headed man,- Shall one by one be gather'd to thy side, By those who in their turn shall follow them.
So live, that when thy summons comes to join The innumerable caravan, which moves
To that mysterious realm, where each shall take His chamber in the silent halls of death, Thou go not, like the quarry-
Scourged to his dungeon, but, sustain'd and soothed
By an unfaltering trust, approach thy grave
Like one who wraps the drapery of his couch
About him, and lies down to pleasant dreams.
WILLIAM CULLEN BRYANT.
NIGHT AND DEATH.
MYSTERIOUS Night!
when our first parent knew
Thee from report di
vine, and heard thy
Did he not tremble
for this lovely frame,
This glorious canopy
of light and blue?
"WHEN OUR FIRST PARENT KNEW THEE FROM
Yet 'neath a curtain of translucent dew,
Bathed in the rays of the great setting flame,
Hesperus with the host of heaven came,
And lo! creation widened in man's view.
Who could have thought such darkness lay con
Within thy beams, O sun! or who could find,
Whilst fly, and leaf, and insect stood revealed, That to such countless orbs thou mad'st us blind! Why do we then shun Death with anxious strife? If light can thus deceive, wherefore not life?
THERE is a land of pure delight,
Where saints immortal reign; Infinite day excludes the night, And pleasures banish pain.
There everlasting spring abides, And never-withering flowers; Death, like a narrow sea, divides This heavenly land from ours.
Sweet fields beyond the swelling flood Stand dressed in living green;
So to the Jews old Canaan stood While Jordan rolled between.
But timorous mortals start and shrink To cross this narrow sea,
And linger shivering on the brink,
And fear to launch away.
« PreviousContinue » |