The Tiffin tribune. (Tiffin, Ohio) 1868-1887, 1872-02-22
{ Inn Snhipcf-

We have more t'ftn once alluded +
the wTetched dogcr,el which is affix
ed to obituary notices nOw-a-day-fO
what purpose We know not, unless i
is to lend an additional horror {,
death.
SOme Of these rhymes are in con
slant service; as, for instance:
I dearest sister, thou hast left Us,
Here tiny loss We deeply feel, &c, &c
Others are manufactured for the Oc
casiOn, and most of them belong tC
that class of poetry which neither
gods nor men allow. The person
who, IN the presence of a great grief
can deliberately sit down to twist his
sorrows into verse, will probably sur
v1ve the affiictiOn, whatever it may be,
some time.
But now and then pure and noble
poetry, the offspring alike of deep
feeling and high genius, springs from
the grave-sOd and blossoms into i'm
mortality. We print such an one to-
day" E-reqIy Of the Bishop Of Chi
chester, on the Death Of q Beloved
WIfeu
Written two hundred years ago, it
yet holds its place in our literature as
one Of the best and brightest tributes
ever paid by the living to the dead
As such, il has always been a favOrite
among poets themselves. AllusiOns
to it are met with constantly, and Mr.
LOngfellOw has done the good Bishop
the honor to steal from the concluding
lines of the "Exequy,u the best idea
IN the much over-praised ''PsGiD1 Of
Life"
Still ike muffled drums are beating
Funeral marches to the grave"
The ancient original is better than
the modern theft:
,.But bark! my pulse, like a soft drum,
Beats my approach, tells thee come"
1POe quotes two of the lines in his
'Assignation"-
'Stay for me there, will not fail
To meet thee in that hollow vale"
and poor Willis Gaylord Clark, gazing
upon tine portrait of his dead wife, re-
peated the 'EXequy" on his own Jy-
ing bed.
After all, friends, what earthly i'm
is there like that which in
in books? Long after after Sir John
Moore is forgotten, his BURIAL" writ
ten by Wolfe, will be remembered
the "Rape of the LOck' will outlast
the fame of Marlborough and the glOr-
les of Blenheim deserted VILLAGE
will live when the four Georges of
are but empty names, and
the memory of Henry, Bishop of Chi
chester, is as fresh and green to-day
as when, two centuries s.ace, he wrote
these lines:
''Sleep on my love, in thy cold bed,
Never to be disquieted
My last good night! thou will not wake
Till thy fate shall Overtake,
Till age, disease or sorrow must
Marry my body to that dust
IL so much loves, and fill the room
My heart keeps empty in thy tomb.
stay for me there! will not fail
To meet thee in that hollow vale:
And think not much of my delay,
am already on the way,
And follow thee with all the speed
Desire can make or sorrow breed,
Each moment Is short degree
And every hour step toward thee
AT night when betake to rest
Each morn l rise nearer my West
)f life, almost by eight hours sale
Than when sleep breathed his drOWsie gale. |
Thus from the sun my bottom steares
And my days compass downward bears,
Nor labor TO stemme the tide
Through which TO thee 1 swiftly glide
ris true with shame and grief YIELD
Thou like the Vanne first tOOkSt the field,
4 nd gotten hast the victory
IN thus adventuring to dye
3efOre one, whose more years might crave
\ just precedence in the Grave.
But hark my pulse like a soft drum
Beats my approach, tells thee come,
And slow hOWe'er my marches be
shall at last sit down by thee"