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Death holds not long unchanged his fairest guest. Come near ! and bear the mortal to his rest!

His voice of mirth hath ceased
Amidst the vineyards ! there is left no place
For him whose dust receives your vain embrace,

At the gay bridal-feast !
Earth must take earth to moulder on her breast.
Come near! weep o'er him ! bear him to his rest.

Yet mourn ye not as they
Whose spirit's light is quench’d! For him the past
Is seal'd : he may not fall, he may not cast

His birthright's hope away!
All is not here of our beloved and bless'd.
Leave ye the sleeper with his God to rest !



What hidest thou in thy treasure caves and cells,

Thou hollow-sounding and mysterious main ? Pale glistening pearls, and rainbow-colour'd shells Bright things which gleam unreck'd of, and in

vain. Keep, keep thy riches, melancholy sea !

We ask not such from thee.

Yet more, the depths have more ! What wealth

untold, Far down, and shining through their stillness lies! Thou hast the starry gems, the burning gold,

Won from ten thousand royal Argosies.Sweep o'er thy spoils, thou wild and wrathful main !

Earth claims not these again.

Yet more, the depths have more! Thy waves have

roll'd Above the cities of a world gone by! Sand hath fill'd up the palaces of old,

Sea-weed o'ergrown the halls of revelry.

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Dash o'er them, ocean ! in thy scornful play:

Man yields them to decay.

Yet more! the billows and the depths have more !

High hearts and brave are gather'd to thy breast ! They hear not now the booming waters roar,

The battle-thunders will not break their rest.Keep thy red gold and gems, thou stormy grave!

Give back the true and brave !

Give back the lost and lovely!—those for whom

The place was kept at board and hearth so long, The prayer went up through midnight's breathless

gloom, And the vain yearning woke midst festal song ! Hold fast thy buried isles, thy towers o'erthrown

But all is not thine own.

To thee the love of woman hath gone down,

Dark flow thy tides o’er manhood's noble head, O’er youth's bright locks, and beauty's flowery crown:

Yet must thou hear a voice-Restore the dead ! Earth shall reclaim her precious things from thee !

Restore the dead, thou sea !


Bring flowers, young flowers, for the festal board,
To wreath the cup ere the wine is pour'd !
Bring flowers ! they are springing in wood and vale :
Their breath floats out on the southern gale,

And the touch of the sunbeam hath waked the rose, To deck the hall where the bright wine flows.

Bring flowers to strew in the conqueror's path!
He hath shaken thrones with his stormy wrath :
He comes with the spoils of nations back,
The vines lie crush'd in his chariot's track,
The turf looks red where he won the day.
Bring flowers to die in the conqueror's way !

Bring flowers to the captive's lonely cell !
They have tales of the joyous woods to tell
Of the free blue streams, and the glowing sky,
And the bright world shut from his languid eye;
They will bear him a thought of the sunny hours,
And the dream of his youth. Bring him flowers,

wild flowers !

Bring flowers, fresh flowers, for the bride to wear!
They were born to blush in her shining hair.
She is leaving the home of her childhood's mirth,
She hath bid farewell to her father's hearth,
Her place is now by another's side.
Bring flowers for the locks of the fair



Bring flowers, pale flowers, o'er the bier to shed,
A crown for the brow of the early dead !
For this through its leaves hath the white rose burst,
For this in the woods was the violet nursed !
Though they smile in vain for what once was ours,
They are love's last gift. Bring ye flowers, pale
Bring flowers to the shrine where we kneel in prayer-
They are nature's offering, their place is there!
They speak of hope to the fainting heart,
With a voice of promise they come and part,
They sleep in dust through the wintry hours,
They break forth in glory. Bring flowers, bright

flowers !

flowers !


“Alas! the mother that him bare,
If she had been in presence there,
In his wan cheeks and sunburut hair
She had not known her child."


REST, pilgrim, rest! Thou’rt from the Syrian land,

Thou’rt from the wild and wondrous East, I know By the long-wither'd palm-branch in thy hand,

And by the darkness of thy sunburnt brow. Alas! the bright, the beautiful, who part

So full of hope, for that far country's bourne ! Alas! the weary and the changed in heart,

And dimm'd in aspect, who like thee return !

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Thou’rt faint-stay, rest thee from thy toils at last Through the high chestnuts lightly plays the

breeze, The stars gleam out, the Ave hour is past,

The sailor's hymn hath died along the seas. Thou'rt faint and worn-hear'st thou the fountain

welling By the grey pillars of yon ruin'd shrine ?

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