The New Orleans daily Democrat. [volume] (New Orleans, La.) 1877-1880, 1878-06-23
TIIANATOPsIS.
WILLIAM CULLEN BRYANT.

no him who In the love of Nature holds
Communion with her visible forms, she speak
"A various language; for his gayer hours
She has voice Of gladness, aud smile
And eloquence OF beauty, and she glides
Into hts darker musings, with mtld
and healing sympathy, that steals away, -,
Their sharpness ere he Is aware Wher
thoughts
rf the last bitter hour come like blight
Over thy spirit, and sad images
0f the stern agony, and shroud, and pail,
And hreathess darkness, and the narrow
house,
sEake tfee 10 shudder, and grow sick ai
heart
kIo forth, under the open sky, and list
HoNature's teachings, whil from oil around
Earth and her waters, and the depths OF ar
Comes still voice-yet a few days, and thee
The alI-behoIdng sun shall see no more
= n afl his course; nor yet in the cold GROUND,
Where thy pale form was laid, with many
Nur IN tha embrace of ocean, shall exist
THY Image Earth, that nourished tnee,
INV growth, TO be resolved to earth again,
And, lost each human trace, surrenderihg up
qhire Individual being, shalt thou go
T0 mis- forever with the elements,
s5s6 ia a brother 60 the insenSible rock,
And 10 the sluggish clod, which the rude
Turns with his share, and treads upon. The
Shall send bis roots abroad, and pierce the
mould.
Yet not TO thine eternal resting place
Shalt thou retire alone, nor couldst thou wish
Couch more magnificent. Thou shalt lie
with patriarchs Of the infant world with
kings,
Tlia powerful Of the earth-the wise, the good,
Fair forms, and hoary seerS Of ages past,
Ali la one mighty sepuichre. The hills
R0ck-Eibbed and ancient as the sun-the wales
Stretching In pensive quietness between;
The venerable woods rivers that move
Hfs majesty, and the complaining brooks
Tint make the meadows green; and, poured
Dfd ocean gray and melancholy waste
Are but the solemn decorations all
sJf the great tomb of man. The golden sur,
The pIBnets, all the infinite host of heaven.
Are shining on the sad abodes Of death
Through the still lapse OF ages. All that
tread
The globe are but handful to the tribes
THAT Hiumber In It's bosom. Take the wings
&9f morning. traverse Barea's desert sands,
on lose thyself In the continuous woods
Where rolls the 0regan, and hears no sound.
Save his own dashings yet-the dead are
there:
And millions In those solitudes, since FIRST
Tho flight Of years began, have laid them
III their last sleep--the dead reign there alone.
So shalt thou rest, and what Ii thou withdraw
IN silence from the living, and no friend
Take note of thy departure2 All that breathe
Will share thy destiny. The gay will laugh
When thou art gone, the solemn brood of
care.
pI0d on, and each one as before will chase
Aals favorite phantom; yet all these shall
leave
Their mirth and their employments, and
shall come
And make their bed with thee AS the long
train.
1f ages glide away, the Sons of men,
The youth In LIES green spring, and he who
goes
in ths full strength of years, matron, and
maid,
And the sweet babe, and the gray-headed
mAn,--
Shall one by one be gathered to thy side,
k 81 those who In their turn shall follow them.
30 live, that when thy summons comes to
join
The innumerable caravan, which moves
t. ihat mysterious realm where each shall
take
His chamber In the silent halls of death,
Thou 60 not, like the quarry-slaveat night,
5couTged 70 his dungeon, but sustained and
eoothed
By an unfaltering trust, approach thy grave. 1
Like one who wraps the dTapery of his couch \
About him and lies down to pleasant dreams.