Thy midnight rest may still be sweet, And break in glorious morn!"
DEATH.
Death! that struck when I was most confiding.
In my certain faith of joy to be--
Strike again, Time's withered branch dividing From the fresh root of Eternity!
Leaves, upon Time's branch, were growing brightly, Full of sap, and full of silver dew;Birds beneath its shelter gathered nightly;Daily round its flowers the wild bees flew.
Sorrow passed, and plucked the golden blossom;Guilt stripped off the foliage in its pride But, within its parent's kindly bosom, Flowed for ever Life's restoring tide.
Little mourned I for the parted gladness, For the vacant nest and silent song--
Hope was there, and laughed me out of sadness;Whispering, "Winter will not linger long!"
And, behold! with tenfold increase blessing, Spring adorned the beauty-burdened spray;Wind and rain and fervent heat, caressing, Lavished glory on that second May!
High it rose--no winged grief could sweep it;Sin was scared to distance with its shine;Love, and its own life, had power to keep it From all wrong--from every blight but thine!
Cruel Death! The young leaves droop and languish;Evening's gentle air may still restore--
No! the morning sunshine mocks my anguish-
Time, for me, must never blossom more!
Strike it down, that other boughs may flourish Where that perished sapling used to be;Thus, at least, its mouldering corpse will nourish That from which it sprung--Eternity.
STANZAS TO ----
Well, some may hate, and some may scorn, And some may quite forget thy name;But my sad heart must ever mourn Thy ruined hopes, thy blighted fame!
'Twas thus I thought, an hour ago, Even weeping o'er that wretch's woe;One word turned back my gushing tears, And lit my altered eye with sneers.
Then "Bless the friendly dust," I said, "That hides thy unlamented head!
Vain as thou wert, and weak as vain, The slave of Falsehood, Pride, and Pain--
My heart has nought akin to thine;Thy soul is powerless over mine."
But these were thoughts that vanished too;Unwise, unholy, and untrue: