14 VERSES, &c. But is earth, then, thus victorious Over what must live? No! a destiny more glorious Deathless MIND can give! Unto this IT gave not birth; This can ne'er return to earth. HE whose solemn thought and feeling Left upon this stone These few words, to both appealing, Has earth's boast o'erthrown: "Earth to earth"-with all her powers, "All shall be ours!" Cannot say He hath passed death's shadowy portal ; In these lines he lives! And, to spirits as immortal, Words of warning gives : Would ye triumph over earth, Bear in mind your heavenly birth. TO A PROFESSIONAL FRIEND, ON HIS RETIREMENT FROM ACTIVE LIFE. WHEN from the fields of Palestine The chieftain sought his home once more, For him the harper of his line Poured forth his tributary store; And as, 'mid wine-cups flowing o'er He feasted in his castle-hall, Though rude the strain, its simple lore Perchance might hold his heart in thrall. For, even in that iron age, Unless old bards have told us wrong, To warrior, knight, or statesman sage, Dear was the minstrel's harp and song ; 16 TO A PROFESSIONAL FRIEND. And though unto the martial throng And doubtless many a feudal lord, Lance, shield, and helmet laid aside, Then how much more may he-who now Survey that hour with thankful mien : And looking round with joy serene On blessings won by toilsome years, With heart, and hands, and conscience clean, Feel how the past his bliss endears. TO A PROFESSIONAL FRIEND. Thine is no blood-stained victor-wreath, Won in the fields of martial fame; The trumpet's peal, the bugle's breath, Nor unconfest its calm appeal; And well thy bard might blush for shame, If many a year of arduous toil Devoted to a noble art, Patience-which pain could never foil, Honour-that blunted slander's dart, Kindness-which soothed the mourner's heart, May gratulating thoughts impart,— Such, honoured friend, are justly thine. Where pain and sickness proved their power, Numbers have blessed thy timely skill; Where this was bootless,-in the hour Of anguish, when the heart grew chill, с 17 18 TO A PROFESSIONAL FRIEND. Thy sympathy, like balm, hath still Fallen upon hearts by sorrow riven, Wakening on earth a grateful thrill, And prayers which soared, for thee, to heaven. Nor less in many a wretched cot, Where lonely want laid down to die, Hath thy unpurchased aid been nigh : Such are not profitless, though dumb; Unknown, unthought of, then shall live, Than aught this world could ever give. |