The Xenia sentinel. [volume] (Xenia [Ohio]) 1863-186?, 1864-08-09
JOHN BUTLER howELLs,

| By MF. HoWells, eur Csasul at Venice, on the
death OF his brother, John B. HoWells, 3 pu-
pill Of the Cleveland Institute:
JOHN BUTLER HoWELLs,
Wh0 died 'Ditk tbs first song Of. ths Bird,, "
Redsssday T1srniSg, Aprt2Tth, 1854.
/.
In the early morning when I wake,
At the hour that is sacred Tor his sake,
Aud hear the happy birds Of Spring
In the garden under my window sing,
And through my window the day-break
blows 3 80
The sweetness Of the lily and the rose,
A dormant anguish wakes with day,
And my heart is smitten with strange dis
m4yi
Distance wider than thine, o sea,
DarkeRs between my brother and me
III.
A scrap Of print, few brief lines,
The fatal word that swims and shines
On my tears, With meaning new and dread,
Make fsltering reason know him dead,
And would that my heart mi ght feel it too,
And unto its own regret be true;
For this is the hardest of all to bear,
That his life was so generous and fair,
So full Of love, so full Of hope,
Broadening out with its ample scope,
And so far from death, that his dying seems
The idle agony Of dreams
To my heart thGt feels him living yet
And forget, and l forget.
-- iL.e III.
he Was almost grown n man when he passed
Away, but when I kissed him last,
He was still child, and had erept
Up to the little room where be slept,
And thought to kiss him goodbye in his
sleep: .s
But no was awake to make me weep
With terrible homesickness, before
My wayWard feet had passed the door,
Round about me clung his embrace,
And he pressed against my face his face,
As if some preseienee whispered him then
That it never, never should be again.
Ahi hard, aud selfish, and wilful,I
Have scarce the right to mix my cry
With those who sit togetherand mourR
In the home 50 suddenly fOrlOTR.
".
Out Of far-oF days Of boyhoOd dim,
When he was s babe and carried him,
remember his looks and all his ways; ---
And how he grew through ehildhOods grace,
To the hopes, aud strifes, and plays, and Joys,
And innocent vanity Of boys;
hear his whistle at the door,
His careless step upon the floor,
His song, his jest, his laughter yet .-.
Aud forget, and forget.
v.
Somewhorei in the graveyard that I know,
Where the strawberries under the ehestuutI
grow, "
You hsYs laid him and bis sisters have sat
On his grave, the flowers their tears have wet;
And above his grave, willis write, the song
Of the matin robin leaps sweet and strong
Foom the leafy bark Of the chestnut tree,
And many nurmuring honey-bee
On the strawberry blossoms in the grass
stooPs by his grave and will not pass.
And in the little hollow beneath
The slope Of the silent fsld Of death,
VI.
The coB-belis tinkle soft and sweet,
And the cattle go by with hemsward feet,
And the squirrel barks from the sheltsriug
limb,
At the harmless noise not meant for him!
And nature unto her loving heart
Has taken our darling's mortal part,
Tenderly, that themay be
Like the song Of the robin in tha tree,
Tho blossoms, the grass, the reeds by the
shore,
II VII
I write, and the words with my tears are
wet
But forget, o, forget
Teach me, Thou that sendeth this pain,
To know and feel my loss and gain!
Let me not fslter in belief -
On his death, for that is sOrest grief.
o lift me above this wearing strife,
Till discern his deathleSs life,
Shining beyond the misty shore,
A part Of Heaven evermore.
WILLIAM DEAN HOWELLS
VENICE, Wednesday morning, at dawn, May |
18th, 1854. ~ |
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