"We gather'd round him in the dewy hour
Of one still morn, beneath his chosen tree; From his clear voice, at first, the words of power Came low, like moanings of a distant sea; But swell'd and shook the wilderness ere long, As if the spirit of the breeze grew strong.
“And then once more they trembled on his tongue,
And his white eyelids flutter'd, and his head
Fell back, and mist upon his forehead hung-
Know'st thou not how we pass to join the dead?
It is enough!-he sank upon my breast-
Our friend that loved us, he was gone to rest!
"We buried him where he was wont to pray, By the calm lake, e'en here, at eventide; We rear'd this Cross in token where he lay,
For on the Cross, he said, his Lord had died! Now hath he surely reach'd, o'er mount and wave, That flowery land whose green turf hides no grave.
"But I am sad!-I mourn the clear light taken Back from my people, o'er whose place it shone, The pathway to the better shore forsaken,
And the true words forgotten, save by one, Who hears them faintly sounding from the past, Mingled with death-songs in each fitful blast."
Then spoke the wand'rer forth with kindling eye: "Son of the wilderness! despair thou not, Though the bright hour may seem to thee gone by, And the cloud settled o'er thy nation's lot!
Heaven darkly works-yet, where the seed hath been
There shall the fruitage, glowing yet, be seen.
"Hope on, hope ever!-by the sudden springing
Of green leaves which the winter hid so long;
And by the bursts of free, triumphant singing,
After cold silent months, the woods among ;
And by the rending of the frozen chains,
Which bound the glorious rivers on their plains;
"Deem not the words of light that here were spoken, But as a lovely song, to leave no trace:
Yet shall the gloom which wraps thy hills be broken,
And the full day-spring rise upon thy race!
And fading mists the better path disclose,
And the wide desert blossom as the rose."
So by the Cross they parted, in the wild,
Each fraught with musings for life's after-day,
Memories to visit one, the forest's child,
By many a blue stream in its lonely way;
And upon one, 'midst busy throngs to press
Deep thoughts and sad, yet full of holiness.
By the mighty minster's bell,
Tolling with a sudden swell;
By the colours half-mast high,
O'er the sea hung mournfully;
Know, a prince hath died!
By the drum's dull muffled sound,
By the arms that sweep the ground,
By the volleying muskets' tone,
Speak ye of a soldier gone
In his manhood's pride.
By the chanted psalm that fills
Reverently the ancient hills,'
Learn, that from his harvests done,
Peasants bear a brother on
To his last repose.
By the pall of snowy white
Through the yew-trees gleaming bright;
By the garland on the bier,
Weep! a maiden claims thy tear-
Broken is the rose!
Which is the tenderest rite of all?
Buried virgin's coronal,
Requiem o'er the monarch's head,
Farewell gun for warrior dead,
Herdsman's funeral hymn?
Tells not each of human woe!
Each of hope and strength brought low?
Number each with holy things,
If one chastening thought it brings
Ere life's day grow dim!
1A custom still retained at rural funerals in some parts of
THE rose was in rich bloom on Sharon's plain,
When a young mother, with her first-born, thence
Went up to Zion; for the boy was vow'd
Unto the Temple service:- by the hand
She led him, and her silent soul, the while,
Oft as the dewy laughter of his eye
Met her sweet serious glance, rejoiced to think
That aught so pure, so beautiful, was hers,
To bring before her God. So pass'd they on
O'er Judah's hills; and wheresoe'er the leaves
Of the broad sycamore made sounds at noon,
Like lulling rain-drops, or the olive boughs,
With their cool dimness, cross'd the sultry blue
Of Syria's heaven, she paused, that he might rest:
Yet from her own meek eyelids chased the sleep
That weigh'd their dark fringe down, to sit and watch
The crimson deepening o'er his cheek's repose,
As at a red flower's heart. And where a fount
Lay, like a twilight star, 'midst palmy shades,
Making its bank green gems along the wild,
There, too, she linger'd, from the diamond wave
Drawing bright water for his rosy lips,
And softly parting clusters of jet curls
To bathe his brow. At last the fane was reach'd,
The earth's one sanctuary-and rapture hush'd
Her bosom, as before her, through the day,
It rose, a mountain of white marble, steep'd
In light like floating gold. But when that hour
Waned to the farewell moment, when the boy
Lifted, through rainbow-gleaming tears, his eye
Beseechingly to hers, and half in fear
Turn'd from the white-robed priest, and round her arm
Clung even as joy clings-the deep spring-tide
Of nature then swell'd high, and o'er her child
Bending, her soul broke forth, in mingled sounds
Of weeping and sad song.-"Alas!" she cried,-
"Alas! my boy, thy gentle grasp is on me;
The bright tears quiver in thy pleading eyes;
And now fond thoughts arise,
And silver cords again to earth have won me;
And like a vine thou claspest my full heart-
How shall I hence depart?
How the lone paths retrace where thou wert playing
So late, along the mountains, at my side?
And I, in joyous pride,
By every place of flowers my course delaying,
Wove, e'en as pearls, the lilies round thy hair,
Beholding thee so fair!
"And, oh! the home whence thy bright smile hath parted,
Will it not seem as if the sunny day
Turn'd from its door away?
While through its chambers wandering, weary-hearted,
I languish for thy voice, which past me still
Went like a singing rill?
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