eral of his best works were written while traveling. He returned home in 1833. "The Prairie," from which the above touching and effective scene was taken, the first of his works written in Europe, published in 1827, was one of the most successful of the novelist's productions. His writings throughout are distinguished by purity and brilliancy of no common merit. He was alike remarkable for his fine commanding person, his manly, resolute, independent nature, and his noble, generous heart. He died at Cooperstown, September 14, 1851. VI. 134. ELEGY IN A COUNTRY CHURCH-YARD. HE curfew tōlls the knell of parting day, THE The lowing herd winds slowly o'er the lea, And leaves the world to darknèss and to me. 2. Now fades the glimmering landscape on the sight, 3. Save that from yonder ivy-mantled tower The moping owl does to the moon complain 4. Beneath those rugged elms, that yew-tree's shade, The rude forefathers of the hamlet sleep. 5. The breezy call of incense-breathing morn, The swallow twittering from the straw-built shed, No more shall rouse them from their lowly bed. 7. Oft did the harvest to their sickle yield, Their furrow oft the stubborn glebe has broke : How bowed the woods beneath their sturdy stroke 8. Let not Ambition mock their useful toil, Their homely joys, and destiny obscure; The paths of glory lead but to the grave. 10. Nor you, ye proud, impute to these the fault, If Memory o'er their tomb no trophies raise, 11. Can storied urn, or animated bust, Back to its mansion call the fleeting breath? 12. Perhaps in this neglected spot is laid Some heart once pregnant with celestial fire; 13. But Knowledge to their eyes her ample page, And froze the genial current of the soul. 14. Full many a gem, of purèst ray serene, The dark, unfathomed caves of ocean bear; And waste its sweetness on the desert air. And read their history in a nation's eyes, 17. Their lot forbåde: nor circumscribed alone Their growing virtues, but their crimes confined; Forbade to wade through slaughter to a throne, With incense kindled at the Muse's flame. They kept the noiseless tenor of their way. 20. Yet e'en these bones from insult to protect, With uncouth rhymes and shapeless sculpture decked, 21. Their name, their years, spelt by th' unlettered Muse, The place of fame and elegy supply; And many a holy text around she strews, 22. For who, to dumb forgetfulness a prey, This pleasing, anxious being e'er resigned, Nor cast one longing, lingering look behind? 23. On some fond breast the parting soul relies, Some pious drops the closing eye requires; E'en from the tomb the voice of nature cries, E'en in our ashes live their wonted (wunt'ed) fires. 24. For thee, who, mindful of th' unhonored dead, Dost in these lines their artless tale relate, If 'chance, by lonely contemplation led, Some kindred spirit shall inquire thy fate,25. Haply some hoary-headed swain may say, "Oft have we seen him at the peep of dawn, To meet the sun upon the upland lawn. 27. "Hard by yon wood, now smiling as in scorn, Muttering his wayward fancies, would he rove, Now drooping, woful-wan, like one forlorn, Or crazed with care, or crossed in hopeless love. 28. "One morn I missed him on the customed hill, Along the heath, and near his favorite tree: Another came,-nor yet beside the rill, Nor up the lawn, nor at the wood, was he : 29. "The next, with dirges due, in sad array, Slow through the churchway path we saw him bōrne; THE EPITAPH. HERE RESTS HIS HEAD UPON THE LAP OF EARTH, HE GAINED FROM HEAVEN ('TWAS ALL HE WISHED) A FRIEND. NO FURTHER SEEK HIS MERITS TO DISCLOSE, OR DRAW HIS FRAILTIES FROM THEIR DREAD ABODE, (THERE THEY ALIKE IN TREMBLING HOPE REPOSE,) THE BOSOM OF HIS FATHER AND HIS GOD. GRAY. SECTION XXV. I. 135. THE PHANTOM SHIP. 1. HE breeze had sunk to rest, the noonday sun was high, TH And ocean's breast lay motionlèss beneath a cloudless sky, There was silence in the air, there was silence in the deep; And it seemed as though that burning calm were nature's final sleep. 2. The mid-day watch was set, beneath the blaze of light, When there came a cry from the tall mast-head, "A sail! a sail, in sight!" And o'er the far horizon a snowy speck appeared, And every eye was strained to watch the vessel as she neared. 3. There was no breath of air, yet she bounded on her way, There were none who trod her spacious deck; not a seaman on the mast; 4. No hand to guide her helm: yet on she held her course; A silence, as of death, was o'er that vessel spread She seemed a thing of another world, the world where dwell the dead. 5. She passed away from sight, the deadly calm was o'er, And the spell-bound ship pursued her course befōre the breeze once more; And clouds across the sky obscured the noonday sun, And the winds arose at the tempest's call, before the day was done. 6. Midnight—and still the storm raged wrathfully and loud, And deep in the trough of the heaving sea labored that vessel proud: There was darkness all around, save where lightning flashes keen Played on the crests of the broken waves, and lit the depths between. 7. Around her and below, the waste of waters roared, And answered the crash of the falling masts as they cast them overboard. At every billow's shock her quivering timbers strain; And as she rose on a crested wave, that strange ship passed again. |