поги
about,
hot boo
h his scythe,
eaves,
is blithe,
eaves.om
Death!
lip the cord:
jokes are cracked,
nd spit;mi
e ingle-nook,
not speak:g
round the maid that's warm,
the cheek.osa
ath! Death!157
of lord and clown;
in, tread it down.
Alfred Austin [1835
gert Lnd Bin fi
unla bite, rogs AYBREAK
up out of the sea,
mists, make room for me!"
ships, and cried, "Sail on,
the night is gone!"
And hurried landward far away,
Crying, "Awake! it is the day!"
It said unto the forest, "Shout!
Hang all your leafy banners out!"
It touched the wood-bird's folded wing,
And said, "O bird, awake and sing!”
And o'er the farms, "O chanticleer,
Your clarion blow, the day is near!"
It whispered to the fields of corn,
"Bow down, and hail the coming morn!"
It shouted through the belfry-tower,
"Awake, O bell! proclaim the hour."
It crossed the churchyard with a sigh,
And said, "Not yet! in quiet lie."
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow [1807-1882]
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
Their sharpness, ere he is aware. When thoughts
Of the last bitter hour come like a blight
Over thy spirit, and sad images
Of the stern agony, and shroud, and pall,
And breathless darkness, and the narrow house,
Make thee to shudder and grow sick at heart;-
Go forth, under the open sky, and list
To Nature's teachings, while from all around-
Earth and her waters, and the depths of air-
Comes a still voice:-
Yet a few days, and thee
n shall see no more
yet in the cold ground,
was laid, with many tears, of ocean, shall exist
that nourished thee, shall claim esolved to earth again,
in trace, surrendering up ng, shalt thou go
the elements,
he insensible rock
clod, which the rude swain e, and treads upon. The oak abroad, and pierce thy mold.
eternal resting-place
one, nor couldst thou wish
Thou shalt lie down
he infant world—with kings, earth-the wise, the good,
ry seers of ages past,
epulcher. The hills
cient as the sun, the vales
e quietness between;
ls-rivers that move
e complaining brooks
dows green; and, poured round all,
nd melancholy waste,—
decorations all
of man. The golden sun,
infinite host of heaven,
sad abodes of death
pse of ages. All that tread
I handful to the tribes
bosom.-Take the wings
the Barcan wilderness,
he continuous woods
gon, and hears no sound,
ngs-yet the dead are there:
se 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 glides away, the sons of men-
The youth in life's fresh spring, and he who goes
In the full strength of years, matron and maid,
The speechless babe, and the gray-headed man-
Shall one by one be gathered to thy side,
By those, who in their turn shall follow them.
So live, that when thy summons comes to join
The innumerable caravan, which moves
To that mysterious realm, where each shall take
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.
William Cullen Bryant (1794-1878]
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