OF THE LATE WILLIAM B. 0. PEABODY, D.D. EDITED BY EVERETT PEABODY BOSTON PUBLISHED BY BENJAMIN H. GREENE. 124, WASIIIXGTOX-STREET. HEW YORK : CHAS. B. NORTON. C. S. FRANCIS AND CO. LONDON : JOHN CHAPMAN. 1850. Entered, according to Act of Congress, in the year 1849, by B. H. GREENE, Tn the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the District of Massachusetts BOSTON: PRINTED BY JOHN WILSON, No. 21, School-street. P REE ACE It was intimated in the volume containing the Memoir and Sermons of Dr. Peabody, that a collection of his .Mis- cellaneous Writings would be published. Accordingly, the present selection has been prepared from his numer- ous contributions to the " North American Review." These were written at different periods from 1830 to 184G. They embrace a number of favorite subjects, and illustrate the extensive research, the enthusiastic love of nature, the delicate perception of moral beauty, and the lofty and uncompromising standard of right, which, blended toge- ther by his quiet humor, always characterized him. In selecting the articles for publication, the object has been to give those which have been marked out as best by public opinion, and those which seemed to give the most faithful picture of his mind and heart. Omissions have been made only when dictated by the necessity of reduc- ing the article within proper limits, and then such parts have been omitted as were not necessary to the connec- tion or value of the article. It has been thought by some of Dr. Peabody's friends, that a volume of his Miscellanies would be incomplete without a selection from his Poetical Writings. At their suggestion, those which seemed most worthy to be pre- served have been brought together, and arc placed at the end of the volume. ( () N T E N r r s. REVIEWS. Page Studies in Poetbt ........ 1 Byron 30 American Forest-tbees ....... 62 Hatuts or Insect- ........ Biography of Birds . . . . . . . 137 Men or Letters and Science, Art. I. .... 199 Men* of Letters and Science, Art. II. . . . . 249 Addison .......... 295 Margaret ......... 379 POETRY. To the Memory or a Young Lady . . . . .413 The Departure . . . . . . . . ±15 Lines on Dying ......... ±19 The Land of rHE Blest ....... 123 ►on 424 Autumn Evening 425 Lament of Anastasius ....... 126 To a Young Lady. o:< ki.< BrvrNG a Present of Flo-webs . ±29 MoNADNOCK ■ Infant ...... " And the Watebs weke abated " ..... " man giveth up the ghost, and whebe is he ? " . . 438 Peek lbs I :o Links ro ........ REVIEWS. Digitized by the Internet Archive in 2012 with funding from Princeton Theological Seminary Library http://archive.org/details/remainsoOOpeab POETRY POETRY. TO THE MEMORY OF A YOUNG LADY, ■>EEX FOR THE FUST TIME OX A SPEIXG MOR.VIXC, I love the memory of the hour When first in youth I found thee ; For infant beauty gently threw A morning freshness round thee. A single star was rising then With mild and lovely motion, And scarce the zephyr's mildest breath Went o'er the sleeping ocean. I love the memory of that hour : It wakes a pensive feeling, As when within the winding shell The playful winds are stealing. It tells my heart of those bright years Ere hope went down in sorrow, When all the joys of yesterday Were painted on to-morrow. 35* 414 TO THE MEMORY OF A YOUNG LADY. Where art thou now ? Thy once-loved flowers Their yellow leaves are twining, And bright and beautiful again That single star is shining. But where art thou ? The bended grass A dewy stone discloses, And love's light footsteps print the ground Where all my peace reposes. Farewell ! my tears are not for thee : 'Twere weakness to deplore thee, Or vainly mourn thine absence here, While angels half adore thee. Thy days were few, and quickly told ; Thy short and mournful story Hath ended like the morning star, That melts in deeper glory. 1816. 415 ' THE DEPARTURE. How slow and peacefully the broad red moon Glides down the bending sky ! All still ! She seems to smile upon those sounding waves That lift their thundering voices to the heaven, As if they mourned her solitude of march Above the waste of waters. But now she leans Upon their breast, and pours her liberal ray : The distant mountains drink the yellow light, The dark-red rocks extend their giant-shades, Long paths of glory kindle in the deep, And there far-shadowed on the sea-beat shore The silent forests on their aged head Receive the glittering crown ; or, dimly seen, Some small white sail flings up an airy glance, And smiles a light farewell. The lantern glimmers on the distant beach ; The barge stands waiting for its outward flight ; Those hurrying forms exchange a short embrace ; Some as in sorrow slowly move away, While others leap with gay and youthful bound Where the shrill whistle loudly calls away To the wide ocean, their familiar home. The light boat dances by the unbending side Of that black ship that sideway slowly swings ; Her streamers winding in the playful breeze, Her broad sail heaving in the midnight air. 416 THE DEPARTURE. And who is she, the lovely form, that leans Intensely gazing on the weltering waves ? Is it that, musing on their stormy play In the forge tfulness of youthful joy, Her home, her friends, her country, all depart ? Or, in the anguish of the parting hour, Dares she not even indulge in one last glance Where the still moonbeam in its dewy light Sleeps on the boundary of the far-off hills ? Within the friendly circle of those hills, For ever open to the smile of heaven, She leaves a peaceful home. There, in the freshness of the youthful spring, Together we have drunk the gales of morn, When we have followed the new-opened flower, Our light steps dashing from the bended grass The dew-drops reddening in the rising sun, When Autumn hung upon the dying year Her pensive wreath so wild, so fanciful ; Together we have marked the evening cloud, When the bright ridges of the western hill Seemed slowly melting in the burning heaven ; Together we have watched the star of love Walking with lonely step the silent blue, Before the deep-thronged armies of the night Began their pathway up the glowing skies. Oh ! there was rapture in that pensive hour, There was deep harmony in nature's silence ; For angels breathe their anthems on the heart, That walks its circle on the waves of life. As peacefully as thine. There, in the winter night, THE DEPARTURE. 417 The deep storm, rushing on the sounding blast, Howls round the windows of thy former home. Within, the embers cast a fitful glow ; The tall shade trembles on the dusky wall, And the red fire-light on each cheerful face Paints the calm lines of innocence and peace. One chair is vacant ! how it wakes the thought That hurries onward to the ocean-stream, And swiftly follows in thy venturous way, Till from the rapture of the dream we wake, Wondering thou art not there : and when we bow With reverent heart, and raise the nightly prayer When the fond soul bears all its loves to heaven, We breathe thy name with many a fond desire That He whose spirit is on the stormy wave, Who rules the heaven, and dwells in virtuous hearts, Would still remember thee. Oft at night, In the wild fancies of the troubled sleep, When rosy-fingered spirits wind the dream Around the slumberer's heart, thy well-known bark With homeward step shall walk the joyous waves, And dash the kindling spray ; the mariner Breathe in the freshness of his native airs, And pour the fulness of his grateful heart In the inspiring song : thou too art there, Thy dark hair floating on the morning wind, Thy bright eye fixed with long and burning gaze On thy dear native home ; then, while I mark The passionate laugh, the recognizing glance, The airy vessel calmly melts away. Then the black terrors of the storm arise, Waked by the echoes of the angry sea ; 4 IS THE DEPARTURE. The lightning-flash throws wide its gusty light, The deep-mouthed thunder rolls its rattling wheels, A far-off cry expires upon the seas ! Was it the music of the passing bell Swelling the cadence of the dying gale ? A shade at first ; but now, too plainly seen, She floats upon the white edge of the wave ; The morning light is on her marble face ; The wind lifts playfully her flowing hair In gay embrace ; her pale extended arm, Heaved with the rolling of the element, Invites me with a slow mysterious motion, How dreadful in the eloquence of death ! As in the ruins of that lovely form Affection lingered still. But thou, my friend, Whom we lament with unavailing tears, Art numbered in the heaven : no tear profane, Xo sad remembrance, lingers there to dim Thine own excelling glory. Only a dream ! and thou mayest still return To that loved home, whose well-remembered charms Long years of absence have not worn away : But the warm friends of youth shall not be there, And strange inhabitants shall coldly tell How the old tenants of that happy place Have closed their eyes in peace ; their parting breath Spent in last blessings on their favorite child, On her, the far-away ; and he, the one Who heard the accents of thy last farewell, And loved thee with a never-failing love, Went to the grave alone. 419 LINES ON DYING. My hour is come ; but no unthought-of hour, Whose gloomy presence chills my soul with dread. It steals as gently o'er my weary heart, As the fond parent's footsteps round the cradle Where innocent beauty sleeps. I've looked for it Since the first opening of my youthful mind : Sometimes in hours of gladness would the thought, Calmly as angels' voices heard in dreams, Forbid the unmeaning laugh of careless joy, And melt each feeling into pensive sadness. Sometimes in midnight musings, when the soul Was weary of existence, it would come In many a flash of wild and strange delight. I found no pleasure in the youthful spring, Nor the bright kindlings of the morning cloud ; My spirit lingered on the waning year, On the last blushes of the sunset heaven, And the red leaf that whispered it must fall. I loved to gaze on beauty, — but 'twas not The airy form, and features bright with smiles, But the pale cheek where death had gently laid •His first light touch, and left it lovely still. I've lain for hours beneath the aged tree That casts its shadow o'er the homes of death, When evening sunshine slept on every leaf, And all around was still ; I've marked the graves, Some nameless as I would my own should be, 420 LINES ON DYING. Some graved with all the high parade of death, Some with low stones and moss fast creeping o'er them, As cold oblivion gathers o'er the names Of those who rest below ; then I dismissed Life and its changes from my heart awhile, And thought of death till it became familiar. I thought the humblest unremembered one Was laid there with a sigh, — some with warm tears, Some with the grief that time could never heal, With love enduring as the aching heart, Whose love became despair ; and could it be, That souls once full of high and heavenly musing, Souls that could chain affection to their graves, Were mingling with the dust that closed them in ? No : the long grass springs yearly from their bed, The violet there renews its tender flower, And sure the image of the heavenly nature Is durable as they : oh ! you may close the coffin, Heap high the earth upon their breast, or bind The rocky arches of the ponderous tomb ; The soul will burst its bondage, — yes, will smile At those memorials man felt bound to raise, While it springs upward to its native home. Oft in its loneliest watches of the night, When silence rested on the slumbering world, When the leaf stirred not ; but, serene in heaven, The moon and stars went on their glorious way, And the winds dared not breathe while earth lay stilt, And wondered at their beauty, — I have thought If, when the weary cares of life are ended, My spirit might have rest in fields of light, And dwell in mansions calm and blest as they. Why might it not ? 'tis clay that binds it down. LINES ON DYING. 421 But oft even now the spirit throws off its chains, And hurries upward through the vast of heaven, Beyond heaven's utmost bounds, — even now it ranges Beyond the farthest star, whose fainting ray Seems trembling into darkness, and borrows thence Emotions deep and strong imaginings, With thoughts more beautiful than earth affords, And finds a friend in each bright wanderer there. Then surely when the bands of clay are loosed, And the strong prison of the soul is broken, It will rise high above its boldest flight, Above its cares, above its joys and sorrows ; And rest not till it breathes the heavenly air, And folds its pinions at the throne of God. Then welcome death ! the valley's clods are sweet. The once faint heart is mightier than the grave. Lay me to rest beneath the aged tree Which many a year hath bent its hoary head In musing o'er those small round hills of green, While many a ruin of the form divine, The young and beautiful, the old and gray, Have sunk in frailty at the glance of death, And hands as frail have borne them to their rest. There oft I went at evening's hour of peace, Looked o'er the field so widely ridged with graves, And sadly pondered what it is to die. Years have passed by : the ground is even now ; But there I fain would lay me down to sleep Where no rude foot shall break the holy calm, No sound be wakeful but the night-wind's sigh When the red leaves are withering on my bed. 36 422 LINES ON DYING. There the cold moon shall pour her gilding light, And star-beams glimmer through the twining boughs, Above his rest who loved their beauty well. The humblest one receives a farewell sigh, And my departure may call forth a tear ; For in this dark world man can weep for man. But let no pageant of unmeaning grief, No mourning train, in all the pride of sorrow, Go with my ashes to their place of rest ; And let no stone oppress them : years may pass, And friends forget where they have laid me down ; But let me never raise the marble prayer To ask remembrance from the stranger's heart, When love grows cold, and tears have ceased to flow. 1822. 423 THE LAND OF THE BLEST. Oh ! when the hours of life are past, And death's dark shadow falls at last, It is not sleep, it is not rest : 'Tis glory opening to the blest. Their way to heaven was pure from sin, And Christ shall then receive them in ; There each shall wear a robe of light, Like his, divinely fair and bright. There parted hearts again shall meet In union holy, calm, and sweet ; There grief find rest, and never more Shall sorrow call them to deplore. There angels shall unite their prayers With spirits bright and blest as theirs ; And light shall glance on every crown, From suns that never more go down. No storms shall ride the troubled air, Xo voice of passion enter there ; But all be peaceful as the sigh Of evening gales that breathe and die. For there the God of mercy sheds His purest influence on their heads, And gilds the spirits round the throne With glory radiant as his own. 424 THE RISING MOON. The moon is up ! how calm and slow She wheels above the hill ! The weary winds forget to blow, And all the world lies still. The way-worn travellers with delight Her rising brightness see ; Revealing all the paths and plains, And gilding every tree. It glistens where the hurrying stream Its little rippling heaves ; It falls upon the forest-shade, And sparkles on the leaves. So once on Judah's evening hills The heavenly lustre spread ; The gospel sounded from the blaze, And shepherds gazed with dread. And still that light upon the world Its guiding splendor throws, Bright in the opening hours of life, And brighter at the close. The waning moon in time shall fail To walk the midnight skies ; But God hath kindled this bright light With fire that never dies. 425 AUTUMN EVENING. Behold the western evening light! It melts in deepening gloom : So calmly Christians sink away, Descending to the tomb. The wind breathes low ; the withering leaf Scarce whispers from the tree : So gently flows the parting breath, When good men cease to be. How beautiful on all the hills The crimson light is shed ! 'Tis like the peace the Christian gives To mourners round his bed. How mildly on the wandering cloud The sunset beam is cast ! 'Tis like the memory left behind When loved ones breathe their last. And now above the dews of night The yellow star appears : So faith springs in the hearts of those Whose eyes are bathed in tears. But soon the morning's happier light Its glory shall restore ; And eyelids that arc sealed in death Shall wake to close no more. 36* 426 LAMENT OF ANASTASIUS. The idea of the following lines is taken from that beautiful passage in " Anastasius," in which he is represented lamenting the death of his child Alexis : — It was but yesterday, my love, thy little heart beat high, And I had scorned the warning voice that told me thou must die ; I saw thee move with active bound, with spirits light and free, And infant grace and beauty gave their glorious charm to thee. Upon the dewy field I saw thine early footsteps fly, Unfettered as the matin bird that cleaves the radiant sky; And often as the sunrise gale blew back thy shining hair, Thy cheek displayed the red-rose tinge that health had painted there. Then, withered as my heart had been, I could not but rejoice To hear upon the morning wind the music of thy voice, Now echoing in the careless laugh, now melting down to tears : 'Twas like the sounds I used to hear in old and happier years. LAMENT OF ANASTASIUS. 427 Thanks for that memory to thee, my lovely little boy ! Tis all remains of former bliss that care cannot destroy ; I listened, as the mariner suspends the out-bound oar To taste the farewell gale that blows from off his native shore. I loved thee, and my heart was blest ; but, ere the day was spent, I saw thy light and graceful form in drooping illness bent, And shuddered as I cast a look upon the fainting head, For all the glow of health was gone, and life was almost fled. One glance upon thy marble brow made known that hope was vain ; I knew the swiftly wasting lamp would never light again ; Thy cheek was pale, thy snow-white lips were gently thrown apart, And life in every passing breath seemed gushing from the heart. And, when I could not keep the tear from gathering in my eye, Thy little hand prest gently mine in token of reply ; To ask one more exchange of love, thy look was upward cast, And in that long and burning kiss thy happy spirit passed. I trusted I should not have lived to bid farewell to thee, And nature in my heart declares it ought not so to be ; I hoped that thou within the grave my weary head should lay, And live beloved when I was gone for many a happy day. 423 LAMENT OF ANASTASIUS. With trembling hand I vainly tried thy dying eyes to close, And how I envied in that hour thy calm and deep repose ! For I was left alone on earth, with pain and grief opprest ; And thou wert with the sainted, where the weary are at rest. Yes ! I am left alone on earth ; but I will not repine Because a spirit loved so well is earlier blest than mine : My fate may darken as it will, I shall not much deplore, Since thou art where the ills of life can never reach thee more. 1823. 429 TO A YOUNG LADY. ON RECEIVING A PRESENT OP FLOWERS, AVIIICII SHE CALLED EMBLEMS OF FRIENDSHIP. 1 thank you, my dearest : 'twas kind to send A proof of love to your faithful friend ; And, though I have long since learned to fear, From the hard- won lesson of many a year, That the faithless heart very seldom shares In the language of feeling the tongue declares, 1 will still believe, that, at least in youth, There may be a union of friendship and truth. Besides, I am glad to see the flowers ; They remind my heart of its greener hours, When all the present, the future, and past Were a vision of pleasure too bright to last. Emblems of friendship they may be now ; They are torn away from their parent bough ; But they were not so when they used to stand Beneath the care of a lovely hand, And seemed as if grateful and proud to shed Their fragrance round on their native bed ; And the light breeze whispered its joy to bear Their perfume away to the evening air. They are like friendship, when noon-day showers Have torn them down from their native bowers ; 430 TO A YOUNG LADY. When cold and withered their branches lie In the careless steps of the passer-by : Or when the maiden delights to wear Their green in the wreaths of her braided hair, To brighten her charms on some festive day ; And then like a friend to be cast away, Or folded down in some holy book, In which she is never again to look : Or given away to some favored youth, In the silent language he takes for truth ; To be worn and worshipped, and fondly pressed By day and night to his foolish breast ; Till he finds that the flowers will be blooming on, When the love that gave them is long since gone ; And their beauty may perish whenever it will ; The flowers of the heart may be frailer still. 'Tis the fault of nature ; for ask your heart, If its own warm feelings do not depart ; If it never breathed a delighted vow To friends it will scarcely remember now : And yet in yourself you do not condemn The change of feeling you censure in them. Oh ! no ; for friendship will not be true ; And the radiant star of the morning dew, Which the zephyr dries with its gentle wing, Is as brilliant, as fair, and as vain a thing. I've seen the gaze of an altered eye, And the hand held from me I knew not why ; I've heard the footsteps of friends who fled, When sickness hung over my weary bed ; And I thought that the heart might be warmed as soon By the last cold ray of the waning moon. TO A YOUNG LADY. 431 I would trust as soon to the mete or- spark That misled the course of the shipwrecked bark, As confide in the perjured, betraying kiss That friendship gives in a world like this. But they were not all, — and while they were changed, There were some whose feeling no time estranged ; Whose words of kindness were true to the last, As the leaf endures when summer is past. Then, if there is friendship which can be true, May its best affections be pledged to you ! If there are hearts you love to cherish, If there are feelings that will not perish, May they strew their blessings around your way, From this morning hour to your latest day ! If the hope that before you so bright appears, Has risen in smiles to go down in tears ; If the star of promise, that blazes high, Be quenched in the clouds of a stormy sky ; May a hand as true, and more dear than mine, Be near to support you in life's decline, Till you reach the mansions of heavenly rest, Where friends unite, and their loves are blest ! 1824. MONADNOCK. Upon the far-off mountain's brow The angry storm has ceased to beat, And broken clouds are gathering now In lowly reverence round his feet. I saw their dark and crowded bands On his firm head in wrath descending ; But there, once more redeemed, he stands, And heaven's clear arch is o'er him bending I've seen him when the rising sun Shone like a watch-fire on the height ; I've seen him when the day was done, Bathed in the evening's crimson light ; I've seen him in the midnight hour, When all the world beneath Avere sleeping, Like some lone sentry in his tower His patient watch in silence keeping. And there, as ever steep and clear, That pyramid of Nature springs ! He owns no rival turret near, No sovereign but the King of kings : While many a nation hath passed by, And many an age unknown in story, His walls and battlements on high He rears in melancholy glory. MONADNOCK. 433 And let a world of human pride With all its grandeur melt away, And spread around his rocky side The broken fragments of decay ; Serene his hoary head will tower, Untroubled by one thought of sorrow : He numbers not the weary hour ; He welcomes not nor fears to-morrow. Farewell ! I go my distant way : Perhaps, not far in future years, The eyes that glow with smiles to-day May gaze upon thee dim with tears. Then let me learn from thee to rise, All time and chance and change defying, Still pointing upward to the skies, And on the inward strength relying. If life before my weary eye Grows fearful as the angry sea, Thy memory shall suppress the sigh For that which never more can be ; Inspiring all within the heart With firm resolve and strong endeavor To act a brave and faithful part, Till life's short warfare ends for ever. 1824, 37 434 ON SEEING A DECEASED INFANT. And this is death ! how cold and still, And yet how lovely it appears ! Too cold to let the gazer smile, But far too beautiful for tears. The sparkling eye no more is bright, The cheek hath lost its rose-like red ; And yet it is with strange delight I stand and gaze upon the dead. But when I see the fair wide brow Half shaded by the silken hair. That never looked so fair as now, When life and health were laughing there, I wonder not that grief should swell So wildly upward in the breast, And that strong passion once rebel, That need not, cannot be suppressed. I wonder not that parents' eyes, In gazing thus, grow cold and dim ; That burning tears and aching sighs Are blended with the funeral hymn. The spirit hath an earthly part, That weeps when earthly pleasure flies ; And Heaven would scorn the frozen heart That melts not when the infant dies. ON SEEING A DECEASED INFANT. 435 And yet why mourn ? That deep repose Shall never more be broke by pain ; Those lips no more in sighs unclose, Those eyes shall never weep again. For think not that the blushing flower Shall wither in the churchyard sod : 'Twas made to gild an angel's bower Within the paradise of God. Once more I gaze, — and swift and far The clouds of death and sorrow fly ; I see thee like a new-born star, Move up thy pathway in the sky : The star hath rays serene and bright, But cold and pale compared with thine ; For thy orb shines with heavenly light, With beams unfailing and divine. Then let the burthened heart be free, The tears of sorrow all be shed, And parents calmly bend to see The mournful beauty of the dead ; Thrice happy that their infant bears To Heaven no darkening stain of sin, And only breathed life's morning airs Before its evening storms begin. Farewell ! I shall not soon forget ! Although thy heart hath ceased to beat, My memory warmly treasures yet Thy features calm and mildly sweet. But no : that look is not the last ; We yet may meet where seraphs dwell, Where love no more deplores the past, Nor breathes that withering word, — Farewell is: 436 EXTRACT FROM A POEM, AND THE WATERS WERE ABATED.' # * * * # * * # Now life looks smiling on the world again ; The bright waves dance, the ocean lifts its voice, Rejoicing that its work of death is done ; The forests send from out their caverned green The solemn fulness of the organ's tone, Deep as it rolls in temples made with hands ; The boundless fields unroll their velvet green, Where the tired eye may rest with calm delight ; The infant buds burst all their prisoning shells, And varied brilliants gem the hills and vales Like sprinklings from the morning's changing cloud, Or the fallen rainbow shivered into flowers. But high o'er all the rainbow firmly springs ; For now the sun hath scaled the barrier hills, And, slowly rising from his mountain-throne, Smiles on the lovely stranger of the heavens That fronts him on the purple robe of clouds, Whose dark folds roll in majesty away. 'Tis beautiful ! Admiring hearts and eyes Are wondering raised, as if the angel files, With arms yet burning from the radiant blaze, Thronged in bright circle round the long-lost world, To hail its rising from its watery tomb. 43' "lis beautiful ! — and all their hearts are peace ; No more they ponder on the lately dead, Or dream how soon their own despair may come ; Their fears and sorrows find repose at last, For God hath said it, and their hearts reply That God's own hand hath bent its arching tower, And joined its colored circles in the heaven, That all might read the language of his love, Oft as it drives the angry storm away, And breathes its calmness on the world below. Man would have stamped it in recording brass, Or graved it in the everlasting rock ; But God hath framed it finer than the air, With tints as frail as those of slenderest flowers, Or evening clouds that fade beneath the view. Thousands of years have risen and passed away, — Stars have expired, and yet the rainbow lives In all the brightness of its earlier light, On Nature's festivals to span the heavens, Till the last heart of man shall cease to beat, When mountains melt, and rocks are rent with fires. And ocean rolls its latest wave away. 1826. 37* 43S MAN GIVETH UP THE GHOST, AND WHERE IS HE?" Where is he ? Hark ! his lonely home Is answering to the mournful call ! The setting sun with dazzling blaze May fire the windows of his hall ; But evening shadows quench the light, And all is cheerless, cold, and dim, Save where one taper wakes at night, Like weeping love remembering him. Where is he ? Hark ! the friend replies : " I watched beside his dying bed, And heard the low and struggling sighs That gave the living to the dead ; I saw his weary eyelids close, And then — the ruin coldly cast, Where all the loving and beloved, Though sadly parted, meet at last." Where is he ? Hark ! the marble says, That " here the mourners laid his head ; And here sometimes, in after-days, They came, and sorrowed for the dead : But one by one they passed away, And soon they left me here alone To sink in unobserved decay, — A nameless and neglected stone." " MAN GIVETH UP THE GHOST," ETC. 439 Where is he ? Hark ! 'tis Heaven replies : " The star-beam of the purple sky, That looks beneath the evening's brow, Mild as some beaming angel's eye, As calm and clear it gazes down, Is shining from the place of rest, The pearl of his immortal crown, The heavenly radiance of the blest ! " 440 PERICLES, When his friends and family were dead, and he himself was disgraced by the Athenians, showed no sign of emotion, till, at the funeral of his last surviv- ing son, he burst into tears as he attempted to place the funeral garland on his head. " Who are these with mournful tread, Wailing for the youthful dead r Wherefore do the following crowd Breathe their sullen murmurs loud ? — And He ? the gathering crowds retire Before his eye's commanding fire : The lines of age are in his face, But time bends not his martial grace, Nor sorrow bows his head ; And, while the maddening throng condemn. He hath not even a thought for them : His soul is with the dead ! " Stranger, 'twould fire my aged cheek That deeply injured name to speak : 'Twas once the Athenian's breath of life, The watchword of the bloodiest strife : For, when he led the marshalled brave, His galley rode the foremost wave ; And, when the thundering shock began, His sword was blazing in the van. Who hath not seen the stormy crowd Before his mild persuasion bowed ; PERICLES. 44 L Or sunk to earth as o'er them passed His burning accents fierce and fast ? Like the breeze the meadow bending, Lightly in its evening play, Like the storm the mountain rending, Hurrying on its whirl wind- way, He told the funeral praise of those Who fell before our Samian foes ; He made our hearts with rapture swell, That Athens triumphed when they fell : But when he changed the scene again, And showed them bleeding on the plain, Far from all that life endears, We wept for those ill-fated men, And knew not which was mightiest then, The glory or the tears. Look within that marble court, Where the sculptured fount is playing ; See the youth, in innocent sport, Each his mimic fleet arraying ; See the yellow sunbeams fall Through the garden's wreathing wall, Where fruit-groves paint with sweetness lean Their ponderous flakes of massy green, In which the mansion's turrets sleep Like sunny islands in the deep. Those courts are mine ; and, but for him, My blood had died that fountain's brim : And cold and blackened ruins pressed The spot so peaceful, calm, and ble^t. Look round on many a roof, excelling The splendor of a prince's dwelling ; 442 PERICLES. And mark those groves in shady ranks, Climbing up the marble banks To where yon dark hill towers Like Athens in her virgin pride, Surveying far on every side Her wide-extended powers. Look ! for my aged eyes are dim, — 'Tis glorious ! and 'tis all from him. The Parthenon rears its pearly crown, Fair, as if Heaven had sent it down ; But he that temple upward threw, Against the clear transparent blue. Like our own goddess, from the head Of Jove in youth immortal springing, A gentle grace is round it shed, Far, far abroad its radiance flinging. The many-colored tints of day Around its finish love to play, And gild its pillars light and proud, As gravings from the evening cloud ; He made the marble spring to earth In all this loveliness of birth ; A thing for nations to adore And love, but never rival more. Go to the battle's stormy plain, Where clanging squadrons charge again, And r^ad the war-cry on their lips ; Or go to Athens' thousand ships, And ask what name of power presides Above the battle of the tides ; And when the harp of after-days Is ringing high to notes of praise, PERICLES. 1 lo Go, read what name has longest hung Upon the true Athenian's tongue. Injured old man ! and can it be, Thy country hath rewarded thee, By striving with ungenerous aim To change thy glory into shame ? " Death struck the dearest from his side, Till none were left but one ; And now he mourns that only pride, His sole surviving son. He kept the sternness of his heart, The brightness of his eye ; But death hath struck the tenderest part, And he begins to die. He hath none left to bear disgrace. — Oh may it fall on Athens' race ! May they go down to well-earned graves Of thankless and dishonored slaves ! How many a time in future years Shall they recall with hopeless tears That glorious day's departed sun, When Athens and renown were one. Then the Greek maid will fain discover Thy spirit in her youthful lover ; And matrons press their infants' charms With warmer triumph in their arms, When breathing prayers that they may see Their darling child resembling thee ! " The hero by the burial stands With head declined and folded hands : 444 PERICLES. But when he vainly tries to spread The garland on that marble head, At once upon his memory throng The thoughts of unresented wrong ; The thankless land he could not save, The home now colder than the grave ; And bursts of grief, with sudden start, Spring upward in his withered heart. 'Tis but a moment, — and 'tis past; That moment's frenzy is the last : His eye no more is dim. But bitterer tears than these shall fall Within the guilty city's wall, When Athens weeps for him. 1826. L I X E S T O She died " »3 the jrass Wind) witliereth afore it srroTeth up; Wherewith the mower filleth D Neither he that bindeth sheavej !ua bo30m." While the poor wanderer of life is in this vale of tears, There will be hours when hearts look back to dear de- parted years : Around him night is falling fast, he feels the evening chills, But sees warm sunshine lingering yet on youth's far-dis- tant hills. The lovely form of youthful hope revisits his sad heart, And joy that long since bade farewell, but could not quite depart, And friendship once so passing sweet, too pure and strong to die, And those delicious tears of love he did not wish to dry. Oft I remember thus, and feel the mystery of the hour : I know not then if joy or grief possess the mightier power : While many a loved departed one 'tis pleasure to recall, 'Tis anguish to remember thee, the loveliest of them all. Yes ! sadly welcomed and with tears is now, and long must be, The memory of my parting hour, my earliest friend, from thee : 446 LINES TO For common hopes and common joys I deeply mourn apart ; But the remembrance of the loss, — it thunderstrikes the heart. For, oh ! how fast and fervently, when life is in its spring, Hand bound to hand, and heart to heart, the young affec- tions cling ; By early and unaltering love our souls were joined in one, With ties that death hath burst indeed, but never hath undone. Now death hath thrown us wide apart ; but memory treasures yet — Too painful to remember now, too lovely to forget — Thy manner like an angel's pure, thy mild and mournful grace, And all the rosy light of youth that kindled in thy face ; The open brow with sunny curls around its arches thrown, The speaking eye through which the soul in melting ra- diance shone, The smile that lighted up the lip with bright and pensive glow, And the dark shade that o'er it passed, when tears began to flow. And then how sternly beautiful the spirit bold and high That lighted o'er thy marble brow, and filled thy radiant eye, When, seated by the evening fire, or rambling side by side, We read how holy sufferers lived, or glorious martyrs died. LINES TO 4 47 And thus with feeling all the same, with bright and ear- nest eye, We held communion long and sweet with ocean, earth, and sky : They told the glory of our God, they bore our thoughts above, And made us purer as we heard their eloquence of love. And so within the temple-walls we stood with childish awe, And wondered why our fathers feared a God they never saw, Till we had learned and loved to raise our early offering there, To join the deep and plaintive hymn, or pour our souls in prayer. Was this a happiness too pure for erring man to know ? Or why did Heaven so soon destroy my happiness below ? For, lovely as the vision was, it sunk away as soon As when, in quick and cold eclipse, the sun grows dark at noon. I gazed with trembling in thine eye, — its living light was fled; Upon thy cheek was deeply stained the cold unusual red : The violet vein that wandered up beneath thy shining hair Contrasted with thy snowy brow, — the seal of death was there ! And then thy sweet and gentle voice confirmed that we must part, — That voice whose every tone, till then, was music to my heart : 4 I $ LINES TO I shuddered at the warning words, — I could not let thee go, And leave me journeying here alone in weariness and woe. But thou art gone, too early gone, and I am doomed to stay, Perhaps till many a year has rolled its weary weight away : Thou wast the glory of my heart, my hopes were heavenly fair, But now my guiding star is set in darkness and despair. 'Tis thus the stream in early life before us seems to run, Now stealing through the fragrant shade, now sparkling in the sun : But soon it breaks upon the rock with wild and mournful roar, Or, heavily spread upon the plain, lies slumbering on the shore. 1826. L