sprang white, in a horror of heart-beats you may "The dead thing will never from my thoughts!" a few daylight doses of plain life, And Gallop," gasped Joris, 'for Cock-crow and sparrow-chirp, or Aix is in sight!" bleat and bell Nor bright and envied, nor obscure and scorned, Nor so young that their pleasures fell too thick, Nor old past catching pleasure when it fell, Nothing above, below the just degree, All at the mean where joy's components mix. So again, in the couple's very souls You saw the adequate half with half to match, Each having and each lacking somewhat, both Making a whole that had all and lacked naught; The round and sound, in whose com posure just The acquiescent and recipient side Was Pietro's, and the stirring striv-Yield its like, propagate a bliss in ing one Violante's: both in union gave the due Quietude, enterprise, craving and content, Which go to bodily health and peace of mind. But, as 'tis said a body, rightly mixed, Each element in equipoise, would last JUNE. I GAZED upon the glorious sky And the green mountains round; And thought that when I came to lie At rest within the ground, 'Twere pleasant, that in flowery June, When brooks send up a cheerful tune, And groves a joyous sound, The sexton's hand, my grave to make, The rich, green mountain turf should break. A cell within the frozen mould, While fierce the tempests beatAway! I will not think of theseBlue be the sky and soft the breeze, Earth green beneath the feet, And be the damp mould gently pressed Into my narrow place of rest. There through the long, long summer hours The golden light should lie, And thick young herbs and groups of Hold all that enter thy unbreathing flowers Stand in their beauty by. The oriole should build and tell His love-tale close beside my cell; The idle butterfly Should rest him there, and there be heard The housewife bee and hummingbird. And what if cheerful shouts at noon Come, from the village sent, Or songs of maids, beneath the moon With fairy laughter blent? And what if, in the evening light, Betrothed lovers walk in sight Of my low monument ? I would the lovely scene around Might know no sadder sight or sound. I know, I know I should not see The season's glorious show, My spirit yearns to bring All shall come back, each tie The lost ones back-yearns with de- Of pure affection shall be knit again; Full many a mighty name Alone shall evil die, And sorrow dwell a prisoner in thy reign. And then shall I behold Him, by whose kind paternal side I sprung, And her, who, still and cold, Fills the next grave-the beautiful and young. THANATOPSIS. To him who in the love of Nature holds Communion with her visible forms, she speaks A various language; for his gayer hours She has a voice of gladness, and a smile And eloquence of beauty, and she glides Into his darker musings, with a mild And healing sympathy, that steals away Lurks in thy depths, unuttered, un- Their sharpness ere he is aware. When thoughts Save his own dashings-yet the dead are there: And millions in those solitudes, since first The flight of years began, have laid them down In their last sleep; the dead reign there alone. So shalt thou rest, and what if thou withdraw In silence from the living, and no friend Take note of thy departure? All that breathe Will share thy destiny. The gay will laugh When thou art gone; the solemn brood of care Plod on, and each one as before will chase His favorite phantom; yet all these shall leave Their mirth and their employments, and shall come, And make their bed with thee. As |