Yet e'en these bones from insult to protect, With uncouth rhymes and shapeless sculpture decked, Their name, their years, spelt by th' unlettered Muse, The place of fame and elegy supply; And many a holy text around she strews, For who, to dumb forgetfulness a prey, On some fond breast the parting soul relies; For thee, who, mindful of th' unhonoured dead, Haply some hoary-headed swain may say, 66 Brushing with hasty steps the dews away, "To meet the sun upon the upland lawn: "There at the foot of yonder nodding beach, 66 That wreathes its old fantastic roots so high, "His listless length at noontide would he stretch, 66 And pore upon the brook that babbles by. "Hard by yon wood, now smiling, as in scorn, "Or crazed with care, or crossed in hopeless love. "One morn I missed him on the 'customed hill, Along the heath, and near his favourite tree; "Another came; nor yet beside the rill, "Nor up the lawn, nor at the wood was he: "The next, with dirges due, in sad array, "Slow through the church-way path we saw him borne. Approach and read, (for thou canst read) the lay, "Graved on the stone beneath yon aged thorn.” THE EPITAPH. HERE rests his head upon the lap of Earth, A youth to fortune and to fame unknown, Large was his bounty, and his soul sincere; He gained from Heaven ('t was all he wished) a friend. No farther 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. What the Voice said. MADDENED by Earth's wrong and evil, "Lord!" I cried in sudden ire, "From thy right hand, clothed with thunder, Shake the bolted fire! "Love is lost, and Faith is dying: "Here the dying wail of Famine, "Where is God, that we should fear Him?' Thus the earth-born Titans say; 'God! if thou art living, hear us!' Thus the weak ones pray. "Thou, the patient Heaven upbraiding," 66 Spake a solemn Voice within; Weary of our Lord's forbearance, "Fearless brow to Him uplifting, "Knowest thou not all germs of evil "Couldst thou boast, oh child of weakness! "Thou hast seen two streamlets gushing "Glideth one through greenest valleys, "Is it choice whereby the Parsee "He alone, whose hand is bounding Looking through each soul's surrounding, Knows its good or ill. "For thyself, while wrong and sorrow Make to thee their strong appeal, Coward wert thou not to utter What the heart must feel. "Earnest words must needs be spoken, "But by all thy nature's weakness, "Not the less shall stern-eyed Duty Cease not, Voice of holy speaking, Whispering through the day's cool silence, So, when thoughts of evil doers WHITTIER. |