Death
Death! that struck when I was most confiding.In my certain faith of joy to be—Strike again, Time’s withered branch dividingFrom 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 prideBut, 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 itFrom 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 flourishWhere that perished sapling used to be;Thus, at least, its mouldering corpse will nourishThat 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 mournThy 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:Do I despise the timid deer,Because his limbs are fleet with fear?Or, would I mock the wolf’s death-howl,Because his form is gaunt and foul?Or, hear with joy the leveret’s cry,Because it cannot bravely die?No! Then above his memoryLet Pity’s heart as tender be;Say, “Earth, lie lightly on that breast,And, kind Heaven, grant that spirit rest!”