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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,
A coffin borne through sleet,
And icy clods above it rolled,

While fierce the tempests beat Away! 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,

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And thick young herbs and groups of Hold all that enter thy unbreathing

flowers

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reign.

Far in thy realm withdrawn empires sit in sullenness and gloom,

And glorious ages gone

Lie deep within the shadow of thy womb.

Childhood, with all its mirth, Youth, Manhood, Age, that draws us to the ground,

And last, Man's Life on earth, Glide to thy dim dominions, and are bound.

Thou hast my better years, Thou hast my earlier friends - the good-the kind,

Yielded to thee with tearsThe venerable form-the exalted

mind.

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Full many a mighty name

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Lurks in thy depths, unuttered, un- Their sharpness ere he is aware.

revered;

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When thoughts

Of the last bitter hour come like a

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In majesty, and the complaining brooks

That make the meadows green; and, poured round all,

The globe are but a handful to the tribes

That slumber in its bosom. - Take the wings

Of morning, traverse Barca's desert sands,

Or lose thyself in the continuous woods

Where rolls the Oregon, and hears no sound,

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 the long train

Of ages glide away, the sons of men, The youth in life's green spring, and he who goes

In the full strength of years, matron, and maid,

And the sweet babe, and the grayheaded man,

-

Old ocean's gray and melancholy | Shall one by one be gathered to thy

waste,

Are but the solemn decorations all Of the great tomb of man. The

golden sun, The planets, all the infinite host of heaven,

Are shining on the sad abodes of death,

Through the still lapse of ages. All that tread

side,

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His chamber in the silent halls of death,

Thou go not, like the quarry-slave

at night,

Scourged to his dungeon, but, sustained and soothed

By an unfaltering trust, approach thy grave

Like one who wraps the drapery of his couch

About him, and lies down to pleasant dreams.

THE EVENING WIND.

SPIRIT that breathest through my lattice, thou

That coolest the twilight of the sultry day,

Gratefully flows thy freshness round my brow:

Thou hast been out upon the deep at play, Riding all day the wild blue waves till now,

Roughening their crests, and scattering high their spray And swelling the white sail. I welcome thee

To the scorched land, thou wanderer of the sea!

Nor I alone-a thousand bosoms round

Inhale thee in the fulness of delight;

And languid forms rise up, and pulses bound

Livelier, at coming of the wind of night;

And, languishing to hear thy grateful sound.

Lies the vast inland stretched

beyond the sight. Go forth into the gathering shade; go forth,

God's blessing breathed upon the fainting earth!

Go, rock the little wood-bird in his nest,

Curl the still waters, bright with stars, and rouse

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All that shall live, lie mingled THOU blossom bright with autumn there,

dew,

Beneath that veil of bloom and And colored with the heaven's own breath,

blue,

That living zone 'twixt earth and That openest when the quiet light air. Succeeds the keen and frosty night.

There lies my chamber dark and still,

The atoms trampled by my feet, There wait, to take the place I fill In the sweet air and sunshine

sweet.

Thou comest not when violets lean O'er wandering brooks and springs

unseen,

Or columbines, in purple dressed, Nod o'er the ground-bird's hidden nest,

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