The spirit of democracy. [volume] (Woodsfield, Ohio) 1844-1994, 1846-10-10
p OLE T u y .
From Cist's (Cincinnati) Advertiser.
ta REFLECTION.
A PoEM--BY J. HUNT. in.

"-s A PoEAf--BY j. HUNT, JR.
When the lastlingerng beam of the sun melts away
And the tumut is hushed by the closing of day.
When beas Third and insect reirementhave sought,
'Tis rapture to call home each wandering thought
The stiffness OF eve, as 1t steals o'er the scene,
When Nature is robed in her mantle of green,-
Imparts to the flowers which bloom in the vale,
The purest Of odor to sweeten the gale.
AT that holy hour, !, musng have strayed,
BY the light ofthe moon, to favorite glade,
And watched with delight as she rolled upon high,
The grandeur diffused on the earth aud the sky
There is, in that season of softness and calm,
A something, which serves for the bosom, balm,
More precious aud soothing. subduing and dear.
Than is smet with elsewhere, in our pilgrimage here
When fully returnd, the noise of the nll,
Which rushed with roar from the sleeps Of the
hill,
Would break on the air SO enchanungly sweet,
As to render my arbor sacred retreat.
There, pondering the past, would inst in my
breast,
Those feelings SO tranquil and pregnant with rest;
That life, with its turmoils. its and its woes,
Seemed buried and lost in the sea ofrepose.
Then, too, would Reflection revive in me, youth,
Where eing was clothed in the rament Of Truth,
Which seemed more devoutly my senses to cheer,
Thar did all the beauties that hung on the year.
Reelection, that feeling scarce can express;
1t elates US with JOY, or renews our distress;-
1t animates pleasure,-reeives us from pain.
Or it makes US live over our troubles again.
twill remind us OF days which forever have fled
Ofsickness and sorrow-ofinends who are dead $
OiilsAnd of comforts--of hopes and of fears,--
OF mrth and of anguish-of smiles and of tears.
To wander for years. 10 and fro on the earth,
And then to return to the home of our BIRTH
How strange will Reflection both rudey aud kind,
Recall the bright morning of youth, to our mind.
Each sport of our childhood will rise like spell,
Creating sensations no language can tell;
The breast, too, will sigh, as we turn from the
place,
Rejecting on pleasures, no time can etface.
To visit grave, we reflect as we tread
On the turfwhic encoses friend who is dead -
That his spirit, emf anchised, inhabits sphere,
Unknown to the troubles disturbngus here.
When viewing mankind ploddiDg onward through
strife,
Overwhelmed in the business and hustle of lfe,-
This question is asked with the greatest of sense
"Where will they all be, in one hundred years
hence?"
Not atrace will remain, save stone mark the spot
Where their ashes repose and their deeds be forgot
Like the leaves of the forest when autumn hath
o., blown,''
Will they ywilher and fade and be wholly unknown.
Oh, mournfu Reflection, to feel in the heart,
That all Of US dies, when this life we depart;
That that which we cherish and struggle for here.
Is borne to our tomb, meath the pail on the bier.
While living, God grant, one deed may perform,
That will live and grow bright mid times sun
shine and Storm
And for ages TO come, in the &c Temple of Fame, "
May be read in Its archives that deed and my name.
When the grey hairs of years shall encircle my brow
And my pulse, too, ebbs law, that beats rapidly
now,-
When films cloud my eye, and cares greatly op-
press,
May no acts traced in sorrow, my bosom distress
And o, may my Conscience. me, safely secure,
From pains and temptations which all must endure
BY keeping these maXims aiohin my view:
Shun that which Is vicious, and virtue pursue.
Thus age, may advance with its waste and dec ay,
stlMi i'll survive it, though passing away
Unmoved by Reflections which make me repent,
That time has been wrongly, moi otrighteously spent
Then, when the pale moment ofparting and gloom,
Shall shadow existence. and open my tomb,--
As quiet as sleep to an infant, shall be
My sluILber in Death when the spirit is free.
BANKS OF THE ONO. Sept. 1916.