The Massachusetts spy, and Worcester County advertiser. [volume] ([Worcester, Mass.]) 1825-1831, 1826-09-13
29oefrp.
From the U. S. Literary Gazette
THE Two CRATES.

'Tis bleak wild hill but green and bright
In the summer warmth, and the midday light,
There's the hun of the bee, and the chrp OF tue
wren.
And the dash of the brook from the alder glen,
There's the sound of bell from the scatter'd
flock,
And the shade of the beech lies cool on the rock,
And fresh from the west is the free winds breath,
There is nothing here that speaks of death
Far yonder, where orchards and gardens lie,
And dwellings cluster, 'ts there men die.
They are born, they die, and are buried near,
Where the popuious graveyard ligktens the
bier;
For strict and close are the ties that bind,
In death the children of human kinds
Yea, stricter and closer than those of life
IT'S neighborhood that knows no strife,
They are noiseless sathered-friend and foe
To the still and dark assemblies below;
Without frown smile they meet,
Each pale and calm in his winding sheet;
In that sullen home of peace aud gloom,
Crowded like guests, in a banquet room.
Yet there are graves in this lonely spot,
Two humble graves-but find them not;
Ihaye seen them-eighteen years are past
Since found their place in the brambles last
The place, where, fifty winters ago,
An aged man in his locks of snow,
And an aged mairon, vithered with years,
Were sotemnly lad-but not with tears;
For none, who sat by the light of their hearth,
Beheid their collins cover'd with earth
Their kindred were far, ard their children dead
When the funeral prayer was coldly said.
Two low green hilloeks two small grey stones,
Rose over the place that held their bones
Bus the grassy hiocks are levelled AGAIN.
And the keeaest eye might search in vain
'Mong briars, anil ferns, and paths of Sheep
For the spot where the aged couple sleep.
Yet we'll might they lay, beneath the soil
OF this lonely spot, that man of toll
And trench the strong hard mould with the spade
Where never before grave was made;
For he hewed the dark old woods away,
And gave the virgin field to the day
And the gould aud the bean, beside ms door,
Bloomu where their flowers meier opened before
And the maize STOOD up. and the bearded rye
Bent low in the breath of an unknown sky
IT'S sad that when life is ended here;
The spirit is borne to distant sphere
That it visits its earthly home no more,
Nor looks on the haunts 1t lov"i before.
But why should the budiless soul b. sent
Far Off to long, long Punishment!
Talk not of the light and the living green
1t will pine for the dear familiar scene;
1t will yearn, in that strange bright world, t.
behold
The ROCK and the stream it knew of old.
~sTis cruel creed, believe it not
Death to the good is niilder lot.
They are here,--they are here,--that Harmless:
pair,
10 the yellow sunshine and lowing ar,
In the light cloud shadows, that slowl' pass.
In the sounds that rise from the murmurmg grass
They sit where their humble cottage stood,
They walk BY the waving edge of the wood,
And list to the long accustomed flow
Of the brook that vets the rocks below.
Patient aud peaceful amt passioBiess,
: As seasons 90 seasons swiftly press,
They watch ard wait and linger around,
Till the day when their bodies shall leave the
ground Is.