Shall, one by one, be gathered to thy side To that mysterious realm where each shall take THE CONQUEROR'S GRAVE. WITHIN this lowly grave a conqueror lies; To the great world unknown, Is graven here; and wild-flowers rising round Here, in the quiet earth, they laid apart Of gentle womankind, Timidly shrinking from the breath of blame; Of sweeter sadness chased the smile away. Nor deem, that, when the hand that molders here Clouds rise on clouds before the rainy east, – And fiery youths to be the vultures' feast. Not thus were waged the mighty wars that gave Alone her task was wrought; Alone the battle fought: Through that long strife her constant hope was stayed On God alone, nor looked for other aid. She met the hosts of sorrow with a look That altered not beneath the frown they wore; The fiery shafts of pain, And rent the nets of passion from her path; Her glory is not of this shadowy state, Glory that with the fleeting season dies; How heaven's bright depths with sounding welcomes rung, Pain, scorn, and sorrow bore, The mighty Sufferer, with aspect sweet, He who, returning glorious from the grave, Dragged Death, disarmed, in chains, a crouching slave. See! as I linger here, the sun grows low; Cool airs are murmuring that the night is near. Consoled, though sad, in hope, and yet in fear. The warfare scarce begun; Yet all may win the triumphs thou hast won: THE PAST. THOU unrelenting Past! Strong are the barriers round thy dark domain, And fetters sure and fast Hold all that enter thy unbreathing reign. Far in thy realm withdrawn, Old empires sit in sullenness and gloom; Lie deep within the shadow of thy womb.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 tears; The venerable form, the exalted mind. My spirit yearns to bring The lost ones back, yearns with desire intense, Thy bolts apart, and pluck thy captives thence. All passage save to those who hence depart; Thou giv'st them back, nor to the broken heart. Labors of good to man; Unpublished charity; unbroken faith; And grew with years, and faltered not in death. Full many a mighty name Lurks in thy depths, unuttered, unrevered: Forgotten arts, and wisdom disappeared. Thine for a space are they: Thy bolts shall fall, inexorable Past! And then shall I behold Him by whose kind, paternal side I sprung; Fills the next grave, the beautiful and young. THE EVENING WIND. SPIRIT that breathest through my lattice, thou Roughening their crests, and scattering high their spray, Nor I alone: a thousand bosoms round And languid forms rise up, and pulses bound Go rock the little wood-bird in his nest; Curl the still waters bright with stars; and rouse The wide old wood from his majestic rest, Summoning from the innumerable boughs The strange, deep harmonies that haunt his breast: Pleasant shall be thy way where meekly bows The shutting flower, and darkling waters pass, And where the o'ershadowing branches sweep the grass. The faint old man shall lean his silver head To feel thee; thou shalt kiss the child asleep, And dry the moistened curls that overspread His temples, while his breathing grows more deep; And they who stand about the sick man's bed Shall joy to listen to thy distant sweep, And softly part his curtains to allow Go: but the circle of eternal change, Which is the life of Nature, shall restore, Sweet odors in the sea-air, sweet and strange, THE BATTLE-FIELD. ONCE this soft turf, this rivulet's sands, Ah! never shall the land forget How gushed the life-blood of her brave, Now all is calm and fresh and still: And talk of children on the hill, And bell of wandering kine, are heard. No solemn host goes trailing by The black-mouthed gun and staggering wain; Men start not at the battle-cry: Oh, be it never heard again! Soon rested those who fought; but thou A friendless warfare, lingering long Yet nerve thy spirit to the proof, And blench not at thy chosen lot. The timid good may stand aloof; The sage may frown: yet faint thou not, Nor heed the shaft too surely cast, Truth, crushed to earth, shall rise again; |