Over the river the boatman pale
Carried another, the household pet;
Her brown curls waved in the gentle gale,
Darling Minnie! I see her yet.
She crossed on her bosom her dimpled hands,
And fearlessly entered the phantom bark;
We felt it glide from the silver sands,
And all our sunshine grew strangely dark; We know she is safe on the farther side,
Where all the ransomed and angels be: Over the river, the mystic river,
My childhood's idol is waiting for me.
For none return from those quiet shores,
Who cross with the boatman cold and pale;
We hear the dip of the golden oars,
And catch a gleam of the snowy sail;
And lo! they have passed from our yearning heart,
They cross the stream and are gone for aye.
We may not sunder the veil apart
That hides from our vision the gates of day; We only know that their barks no more
May sail with us o'er life's stormy sea;
Yet somewhere, I know, on the unseen shore,
They watch, and beckon, and wait for me.
And I sit and think, when the sunset's gold
Is flushing river and hill and shore,
I shall one day stand by the water cold,
And list for the sound of the boatman's oar;
I shall watch for a gleam of the flapping sail,
I shall hear the boat as it gains the strand,
I shall pass from sight with the boatman pale,
To the better shore of the spirit-land.
I shall know the loved who have gone before,
And joyfully sweet will the meeting be,
When over the river, the peaceful river,
The angel of death shall carry me.
NANCY PRIEST WAKEFIELD.
LIFE! I know not what thou art,
But know that thou and I must part;
And when, or how, or where we met,
I own to me 's a secret yet.
But this I know: when thou art fled,
Where'er they lay these limbs, this head,
No clod so valueless shall be
As all that then remains of me.
Oh, whither, whither dost thou fly,
Where bend unseen thy trackless course,
And in this strange divorce,
Ah, tell me where I must seek this compound It
To the vast ocean of empyreal flame,
From whence thy essence came,
Dost thou thy flight pursue, when freed
From matter's base encumbering weed?
Or dost thou, hid from sight,
Wait, like some spell-bound knight,
Through blank oblivious years the appointed hour
To break thy trance and reassume thy power?
Yet canst thou without thought or feeling be?
Oh, say, what art thou, when no more thou 'rt thee?
Life! we've been long together
Through pleasant and through cloudy weather;
"Tis hard to part when friends are dear;
Perhaps 'twill cost a sigh, a tear;
Then steal away, give little warning,
Choose thine own time;
Say not Good-night,— but in some brighter clime
Bid me Good-morning.
The Death of the Virtuous.
SWEET is the scene when virtue dies!
When sinks a righteous soul to rest,
How mildly beam the closing eyes,
How gently heaves th' expiring breast!
So fades a summer cloud away,
So sinks the gale when storms are o'er,
So gently shuts the eye of day,
So dies a wave along the shore.
Triumphant smiles the victor brow,
Fanned by some angel's purple wing;
Where is, O grave! thy victory now!
And where, insidious death! thy sting?
Farewell conflicting joys and fears,
Where light and shade alternate dwell! How bright th' unchanging morn appears! Farewell, inconstant world, farewell!
Yet I smile and whisper this:
I am not the thing you kiss. Cease your tears, and let it lie; It was mine - it is not I.
Sweet friends! what the women lave
For its last bed of the grave,
Is a hut which I am quitting,
Is a garment no more fitting,
Is a cage from which, at last,
Like a hawk my soul hath passed;
Love the inmate, not the room,
The wearer, not the garb; the plume
Of the falcon, not the bars
That kept him from the splendid stars!
Loving friends! be wise, and dry
Straightway every weeping eye.
What ye lift upon the bier
Is not worth a wistful tear.
"Tis an empty sea-shell, one
Out of which the pearl has gone.
The shell is broken, it lies there;
The pearl, the all, the soul, is here.
"Tis an earthen jar whose lid
Allah sealed, the while it hid
That treasure of his treasury,
A mind that loved him: let it lie!
Let the shard be earth's once more,
Since the gold shines in his store!
Allah glorious! Allah good!
Now Thy world is understood;
Now the long, long wonder ends!
Yet ye weep, my erring friends,
While the man whom ye call dead,
In unspoken bliss instead,
Lives and loves you; lost, 'tis true,
By such light as shines for you;
But, in the light ye cannot see,
Of unfulfilled felicity,
In enlarging paradise
Lives a life that never dies.
Farewell, friends! yet not farewellWhere I am ye too shall dwell.
I am gone before your face,
A moment's time, a little space.
Where heaves the turf in many a mouldering | But knowledge to their eyes her ample page,
Each in his narrow cell for ever laid,
The rude forefathers of the hamlet sleep.
Rich with the spoils of time, did ne'er unroll;
Chill penury repressed their noble rage,
And froze the genial current of the soul.
|