The Republican. [volume] (Oakland, Md.) 1877-current, 1878-07-06
THANH OPSIS.



To him who in the love of Nature holds
Communism with her visible form she speaks
various language; for his gayer hours
She has voice of gladness, and smile
And eloquence of beauty, and she gldes
Into his darker musings with a mild
And healing sympathy that steals away
Their sharpness, ere he is aware. When thoughts
OF the last bitter hour come like blight
Over thy spirit, and sad images
III the stern agony, and shroud, and pail,
And GREATNESS darkness, ana the narrow house,
Make thee to shudder, and grow sick at heart,
Go forth, under the open sky and list
To Natures teachings, while from all around
Earth and her waters. and the depths of air
Comes still yoice-Yeta few days, and thee
The all-beholding sun shall see no more
In all his course: nor yet in the cold ground.
Where thy pale form was laid. with many tears
Nor in the embrace of ocean, shall exist
Thy image. Earth, that nourished thee, shall
Thy growth to be resolved to earth again,
And lost each human trace, surrendering up
Thine individual being, shalt thou go
To mix forever with the elements,
To be a brother to the lnsensible rock
And to the sluggish clod which the rude swain
Turns with his share. and treads upon. The oak
Shall send his roots abroad and pierce thy mold
Yet not to thine eternal resting-place
Shalt thou retire alone. nor couldst thou wish
Couch more magnificent. Thou shalt lie down
With patriarchs of the infant world-with kings
The powerful of the earth-the wise, the good
Fair forms, and hOary seers of ages past,
All in one mighty sepulcher. The hills
hOck-rlDDeu ana ancient as the Sun-the wales
Stretching IN penslve quletness between;
The venerable woods-rivers that move
In majesty, and the complaining brooks
That make the meadows green; and, poured
round all,
Old oceans gray and melancholy waste
Are but the solemn decorations all
OF the great tomb of man. The golden sun,
The planets, all the infinite host of heaven,
Are shining on the sad abodes of death
Though the still lapse of ages. All that tread
The globe are but handful to the tribes
That slumbe in its bosom. Take the wings
Of morning. traverse Barca's desert sands
Or lose myself in the continuous woods
Where rolls the Oregon and hears no sound
Save his own dashings-yet-the dead are there
And millions IN those sohtudes, since first
The flight of years began. have laid them down
In their last sleep-the dead reign there alone.
SO shalt thou rest, and what if thou withdraw
In silence from the living. and no friend
lake note OF thy departure3 All that breathe
Will share thy destiny. The gay will laugh
When thou art gone, the solemn brood of care
Plod on, and each one as before will chase
his favorlte phantom; yet all these shall leave
Their mlrth and their employments and shall
come
And make their bed with thee. As the long trair
Ot ages glldes away and the sons of men,
The youth IN hfes green spring, and he who goes
In the full strength of years, matron and maid
And the sweet ba be- and the gray-headed man
Shall one by one be gathered to thy side
By those who IN their turn shall follow them.
The lnnumerable caravan which moves
10 that mysterious realm where each shall TAX
His chamber in the silent halls of DEATH
Thou go not, like the quarry-slave at night
ocourged TO his dungeon, but, sustained anC
soothed
BY an unfaltering trust, approach thy grave
Like one who wraps the drapery of his couch
About him and lies down to pleasant Dreams