LIKE THEE TO DIE, THOU SUN!-My boyhood's dream
Was this; and now my spirit, with thy beam,
Ebbs from a field of victory!—yet the hour
Bears back upon me, with a torrent's power,
Nature's deep longings:-Oh! for some kind eye,
Wherein to meet love's fervent farewell gaze;
Some breast to pillow life's last agony,
Some voice, to speak of hope and brighter days,
Beyond the pass of shadows!-But I go,
I, that have been so loved, go hence alone;
And ye, now gathering round my own hearth's
glow,
Sweet friends! it may be that a softer tone,
Even in this moment, with your laughing glee,
Mingles its cadence while you speak of me:
Of me, your soldier, 'midst the mountains lying,
On the red banner of his battles dying,
Far, far away!-and oh! your parting prayer-
Will not his name be fondly murmur'd there?
It will!-A blessing on that holy hearth!
Though clouds are darkening to o'ercast its
mirth.
Mother! I may not hear thy voice again ;
Sisters! ye watch to greet my step in vain ;
Young brother, fare thee well!-on each dear
Blessing and love a thousand fold be shed,
My soul's last earthly breathings!-May your home
Smile for you ever!-May no winter come,
No world between your hearts!-May even your
tears,
For mv sake, full of long-remember'd years,
Quicken e true affections that entwine
Your lives in one bright bond!-I may not sleep Amidst our fathers, where those tears might shine
Over my slumbers: yet your love will keep
My memory living in the ancestral halls,
Where shame hath never trod :—the dark night
And I depart.-The brave are gone to rest,
The brothers of my combats, on the breast
Of the red field they reap'd:-their work is
done-
Thou, too, art set!-farewell, farewell, thou sun!
The last lone watcher of the bloody sod,
Offers a trusting spirit up to God.
BIRD of the greenwood!
O! why art thou here?
Leaves dance not o'er thee,
Flowers bloom not near.
All the sweet waters
Far hence are at playBird of the greenwood! Away, away!
Where the mast quivers,
Thy place will not be,
As 'midst the waving
Of wild rose and tree.
How should'st thou battle
With storm and with spray?
Bird of the greenwood!
Away, away!
Or art thou seeking
Some brighter land,
Where by the south wind
Vine leaves are fann'd?
'Midst the wild billows
Why then delay ? Bird of the greenwood! Away, away!
"Chide not my lingering
Where storms are dark;
A hand that hath nursed me
Is in the bark;
A heart that hath cherish'd
Through winter's long day, So I turn from the greenwood, Away, away!
GLOOM is upon thy silent hearth,
O silent house! once fill'd with mirth;
Sorrow is in the breezy sound
Of thy tall poplars whispering round.
The shadow of departed hours
Hangs dim upon thy early flowers;
Even in thy sunshine seems to brood
Something more deep than solitude.
Fair art thou, fair to a stranger's gaze,
Mine own sweet home of other days!
My children's birth-place! yet for me,
It is too much to look on thee.
Too much! for, all about thee spread,
I feel the memory of the dead,
And almost linger for the feet
That never more my step shall meet.
The looks, the smiles, all vanish'd now,
Follow me where thy roses blow;
The echoes of kind household words
Are with me 'midst thy singing birds.
Till my heart dies, it dies away
In yearnings for what might not stay;
For love which ne'er deceived my trust,
For all which went with "dust to dust."
What now is left me, but to raise
From thee, lorn spot! my spirit's gaze,
To lift through tears my straining eye
Up to my Father's house on high?
Oh! many are the mansions there,
But not in one hath grief a share!
No haunting shade from things gone by,
May there o'ersweep the unchanging sky.
And they are there, whose long-loved mien
In earthly home no more is seen;
Whose places, where they smiling sate,
Are left unto us desolate.
We miss them when the board is spread;
We miss them when the prayer is said;
Upon our dreams their dying eyes
In still and mournful fondness rose.
But they are where these longings vain
Trouble no more the heart and brain ;
The sadness of this aching love
Dims not our Father's house above.
Ye are at rest, and I in tears,
Ye dwellers of immortal spheres!
Under the poplar boughs I stand,
And mourn the broken household band.
But by your life of lowly faith,
And by your joyful hope in death,
Guide me, till on some brighter shore,
The sever'd wreath is bound once more!
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