THE DEAD. WHY should we vainly wail the dead, What though the fetters of the clay Awhile detain'd the soul's free flight; Though gloomy shades obscured the day, And hinder'd long the dawn of light? They've left a sphere of darkest woe, In heaven's bright courts they ever rest, Nor anguish check the calm that's there. The wounded heart that here no peace Could find amidst the world's cold joy ; The soul that here for knowledge glow'd, Shall travel science' beauteous road, Pleasures unnumber'd are their lot, And an immortal rest they gain. But reverence checks the venturous flight— The mysteries of the realms of light, The heaven of heavens, where God is king? WHERE IS DEATH? IN noonday's blooming joyous prime, On the whirlwind's hoarse and furious gale, There is Death! By consumption's cheek, now flush'd, now wan, Which pitying friends weep gazing on; In the massive goblet jewel-rimm'd, Stealing along his unseen way, There is Death! On the blood-stain'd, lurid battle plain, Amid crowded streets that teem with life, In solitude with horror rife,— In hours of poverty and wealth, Spectre-like gliding on by stealth, There is Death! The plumes of the hearse wave to and fro, And death is the lord of that doleful show- In the rank church-yard, amid mouldering stone, Death holds his terrible rule alone. THE SEA. GAZE on the rushing sea, Mark how, careering high, Its billowy mountains heave and dash, While in loud wrath its giant roar What dost thou say to men, Thou vast and ancient main, What is the meaning of thy tone, That restless, wailing, constant moan? Oh! in the deep, still night, When stars are burning fair— When the sweet moon her radiance pours, And balmy is the air; Oh! then to stand beside the sea, And view its calm tranquillity. |