Year: 1878

To him who in the love of nature holds
Communion with her visible forms, she


speaks
various language; for his gayer hours
She has voice OF gladness, and a smile
And eloqnence of beauty, and she glides
Into his darker musings, with mind
And healing sympathy, that steals away
Ihclr sharpness, ere he is aware. When


thoughts
OF the last bitter hour come like O blight
Over thy spirit, and sad images
Of the stern agony, and shroud, and pail,
And breathless darkness, and the narrow


house,
Make thee to shudder, and grow sick at


heart;
Go forth, unto the open sky, and list
TO natures teachings, while from all
Earth and her waters, and the depth of air
Comes still voioe-Yet few days, and thee
The all beholding sun shall see no more
In all her 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
Thy individual being, shalt thou go
To mix forever with the elements,
To be q brother to the insensible rock
And to the sluggish clod, which the rude


swain
Turns with his share, and treads upon. The
Shall send his roots abroad, and pierce thy


mould.
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 sepulehre. The hills
Rock-ribbed and ancient as the sun-the


wales
Stretching in pensive quietness between;
The venerable wo0ds-rivers that move
Ia 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 plants, 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 slumber in its bosom. Take the wings
OF morning, and the Barcan desert pierce,
Or lose thyself in the continuous woods
Where rolls the Oregon, and hears no sound,
Save his own dashings dead are


there;
And millions in those solitndes, since first
The flight OF years began, have laid them


down
In their last sieep-the dead reign there


alone.
So shalt thou rest, and what if thou shalt fall
Unnoticed by the living, and no friend
Take note of thy departure2 All that breathe
VIII share thy destiny. The gay viii laugh
When thou art gone, the solemn brood of
Plod on, and each one as before will chase
His favorite phantom; yet all these shall


leave
Their mirth and their employments. and


shall aOme
And make their beds with thee. AS the long


train
Of ages glides away, the sons of men,
The youth in life's green spring, and lie who
In the full strength of years-matron, and


maid,
And the sweet babe, and the gray-headed
Shall one by one he gathered to thy side,
By those. who i'll their turn shall follow


them.
So live, that when thy summons comes to


ioip
The Immortal caravan which moves
To the pale realms of shade, where each


shall take
His chamber in the silent lalls of death,
Thou go not, like the qua rry-slave at night,
Scourged to his dungeon, but sustained and


soothed
Like one who wraps the drapery of his


couch
About him, and lies down to pleasant dreams.