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 gentle 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 unto 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 nourished thee, shall claim
Thy growth, to be resolved to earth again;
And, lost each human trace, surrendering up
Thine individual being, shalt thou go
To mix for ever with the elements,
To be a brother to the insensible rock
And to the sluggish clod, which the rude swain
Turns with his share, and treads upon. The oak
Shall send his roots abroad, and pierce thy mould.
Yet not to thy eternal resting-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-ribbed 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 meadow green; and, poured round all,
Old Ocean's grey 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, and the Barcan desert pierce;
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 shalt fall
Unnoticed by 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 favourite phantom; yet all these shall leave
Their mirth and their employments, and shall come,
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 bowed with age, the infant, in the smiles
And beauty of its innocent age cut off,-
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 the pale realms of shade, where each shall take
His chamber in the silent halls of death,
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
About him, and lies down to pleasant dreams.
Is it true that we despise
Blessings common in our eyes?
The fair azure of the sky,
Or the meadows' emerald dye;
Stars, which duly every night
Sparkle with exceeding light;
Moonbeams with enchanted grace
Making earth a fairy place;
Or in sunny hours of May,
(Nature's blessed holiday,)
When each bright and pleasant thing
Glitters in the joy of Spring;
Common blessings these may be-
They are beautiful to me.
Many things as well as these
Common, happily, do please;
Loving word, and kindly deed,
And that grace which doth exceed
Every other, (though it bear
Not so high a name and air,)
Love's forbearance, daily seen
In the sweet and patient mien;
Household love, which vainly tries
To hide itself in new disguise,
In the father's merry play
With the child at close of day,
In the sister's tender look
Of affectionate rebuke:
With all sympathies which bind
Heart to heart, and mind to mind;
Common blessings these appear,
But most excellent and dear.
Health, to gladden every day,
Hope, to banish care away,
Love, prosperity to bless,
Prayer, to sanctify distress;
Common blessings these may be,
But most precious unto me;
Treasures of our common lot,
Not unnoticed or forgot;
Silent as ye come and go,
Grateful hearts your presence know; Long continued may ye be,
Common blessings, unto me!
ON THE DEATH OF A SISTER.
I KNEW that we must part; day after day I saw the dread Destroyer win his way. That hollow cough first rang the fatal knell, As on my ear its prophet-warning fell; Feeble and slow the once light footstep grew, Thy wasting cheek put on death's pallid hue, Thy thin, hot hand to mine more weakly clung, Each sweet" Good night" fell fainter from thy tongue. I knew that we must part-no power could save Thy quiet goodness from an early grave;
Those eyes so dull, though kind each glance they cast,
Looking a sister's fondness to the last;
Those lips so pale, that gently pressed my cheek,
That voice-alas! thou couldst but try to speak;
All told thy doom; I felt it at my heart;
The shaft had struck-I knew that we must part.
And we have parted, Mary-thou art gone! Gone in thine early bloom, meek suffering one! Thy weary spirit breathed itself to sleep,
So peacefully, it seemed a sin to weep,
In those fond watchers who around thee stood,
And felt, even then, that God was greatly good.
Like stars that struggle through the clouds of night,
Thine eyes one moment caught a glorious light,
As if to thee, in that dread hour, 'twere given
To know on earth what faith believes of Heaven;
Then like tired breezes didst thou sink to rest,
Nor one, one pang the awful change confessed.
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