The Wilmingtonian, and Delaware advertiser., 1826-11-09
-
POTTERY: o


In the following, our readers will recog
nize the highly gifted pen of Bryant, coed
itor of the United States Literary Gazette,
from the last number of which we extract it.
OF such poetry our country may justly be
proud
TIE TWO GRAVES.
IT'S bleak wild hill, ,--but green and bright
In the summer warmth, and the midday light,
There's the hum Of the bee and the chirp Of the
wren,
And the dash Of the brook from the alder glen,
There's the sound Of bell from the scattcpd
flock,
And the shade Of the beech lies cool on the
rock,
And fresh from the west is the free winds
breatli,--
There's nothing here that speaks ofdeath.
Far yon,lcr where orchards and gardens lie,
And dwellings ctis-qr, 'ts there men die.
They are born they die, they are buried near,
Where the popuous graveyard lightens their
bier;
For strict and close are the ties that bind
In death, the children Of human kind;
Yea strctcr and closer than those of life,-
lis neighbourhood that knows no strife,
They are noselessly gathered, friend and foe
To the still and dark assemblies beowi
Each pale and calm in his winding sheet;
In that sullen home OF peace and gloom,
Crowded like guests in banquet room.
Yet there are graves in this lonely spot,
Two humble graves--but find them not
have seen them-eighteen years are past,
Since found their places in the bralnblcs last,
The place, where, fifty years ago,
An aged man in his locks Of snow,
Ana IN aged matron withered with years,
We're solemnly laid, but not with tears.
For none who sat blythe light ofther hearth,
Beheld their coffins covered with earth,
Their kindred were far, and their children dead,
When the funeral prayer was coldy said.
Two low green hillocks; two small gray
stones,
Rose over the place that held their bones,
But the grass hillocks are levelled again,
And the keenest eye might search in vain
'Wong briars, and ferns, and paths fsheep,
F,r the spot where the aged couple sleep.
Yet well might they lay, beneath the soil
OF this lonely spot, that man oft toll,
And trench that strong, hard mould with the
spade
Where neverbefore = grave was made.
For he hewed the dark old woods away,
And gave the virgin fields to the day,
And the gourd and the bean beside his door,,
fore,
And the maize stood up, and the bearded rye
Bent low in the breath of an unknown sky
IT'S said that when life is ended here,
The spirit is borne to distant sphere;
That it visits its earthly home no more,
No. looks on the haunts it loved before,
But why should the bodiless soul be sent
Far off, to long, long banishment'
Talk not of the light and living green!
IT will pine for the dear familiar scene,
twill yearn, in that strange bright world, to be
hold,
The rock and the stream it knew of old.
'Tis cruel creed, believe it not!
Death to the good is a milder lot.
They are here,-they are here,--that harmless
pair,
In the yellow sunshine and flowing air,
In the light cloud-shadows, that slowly pass,
In the sounds that rise from the murmurini
grass,
They sit where their humble cottage stood,
They walk by the waving edge ofthe wood;
And list to the long accustomed flow
VI the brook that vets the rock below,
Patient and peaceful and passonlcss,
AS seasons on seasons swiftly press;
They watch and wait and lnger around,
Till the day when their bodies shall quit th'
pro,iud