The Somerset reporter. [volume] (Skowhegan, Me.) 1868-1909, 1896-10-15
"1'hanatOpsis.''

Bryant's "rhanatopsis,n a discourse
en- death, touches a responsive cord 10
human hearts, and has always been read
with great admiration and intense in
terest by large numbers of the best edu-
Gated and refined among the people.
In writing it IL is plain TO see that
the author is impressed with the fact
that mankind generally turn from the
contemplation of such theme, because
they find In 1t much that is repulsive;
and he evidently wishes to present and
treat it in such a way as to divest 1t OF
its Objectionable features, and make the
subject, If not attractive, seem so natu-
raj, important and dignified, as that it
shall receive the consideration 1t de-
serves. And as helpful to this end, he
chooses the medium of poetry aud so
gives to his thought the charm of rhymic
song and measured verse. And as sort
of introduction to his subject, and for
the purpose of preparing the reader to
give him dispasionate and unprecedented
hearing, he calls upon him to
go forth under the opel sky, and list
To natures teachings. while from all around
Earth and her waters and the depths of air.
Comes a still voice."
And then in PLAIN simple yet forcible
language, he gives concise and lucid
statements of the incontroyertible facts
and teachings of nature, which as human
and sensible beings, il becomes us readily
and heartily to accept, and allow them
to have their natural and legitimate in
fuence over our feelings and lives.
"Yet q few days, and thee
The all be holding 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
claim
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 insensible rock,
And to the sluggish clod, which the rude
swain
Turns with his Share and treads upon.
"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 sepulchre.
$50 shalt thou rest-and what if thou shalt
fall
Unnoticed by the living, and no friend
Take note OF thy departuref 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 favorite phantom, yet all these shall leave
Their mirth and their employments, and shall
And make their bed with thee. As the long
train
OF ages glide away, the sons OF men,
The youth in lifes green spring. and he who
goes
In the full strength of years, matron and
maid,
And the sweet babe aud hoary headed man,
Shall, one by one, be gathered to thy side,
By those who in their turn shall follow them"
And now the author, having wildly set
before us life-like picture of our con-
dition here, and the laws to which we are
and which are constantly act
ing upon US, he closes his beautiful
poem, In the way of exhortation or
earnest expression of desire, that our
lives here may be such, that when our
time shall come we shall willingly hear
the call for our departure, and gladly
join the great throng which is ever
moving or and away from the scenes of
earth to a higher and immortal life.
$50 live that when thy summons comes to join
The innumerable caravan, that moves
To the pale realms OF shade, where each shall
take
His chamber In the silent halls of death,
Thou go not, like the quarry. slave at night
to his dungeon: but sustained and
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"
1t is almost sad to think that our gift
ed author, who at the early age of nine
teen wrote this wonderful and impress
sive poem, and who through long and
anf RI ha "
evidences of goodness, genius and power,
has sung his last song and breaJhed his
last prayer. Still and voiceless for
nearly score of years, have been his
tongue and harp.
but the soft memory of his virtues yet
fingers, like twilight hues, when the bright
sun is SET"
Z.
SkOWhepan Oct 1886