(A lovely emblem of that promised life That springs from death) doth placidly enclose The bed of rest, where with their fathers sleep The children of the vale, and the calm stream That murmurs onward with the self-same tone For ever, by the mystic power of sound Binding the present with the past, pervades The holy hush as if with God's own voice, Filling the listening heart with piety.
Oh! ne'er shall I forget the hour, when first Thy little chapel stole upon my heart, Secluded TROUTBECK! "Twas the Sabbath-morn, And up the rocky banks of thy wild stream I wound my path, full oft I ween delay'd By sounding waterfall, that 'mid the calm Awoke such solemn thoughts as suited well The day of peace; till all at once I came Out of the shady glen, and with fresh joy Walk'd on encircled by green pastoral hills. Before me suddenly thy chapel rose
As if it were an image: even then
The noise of thunder roll'd along the sky, And darkness veil'd the heights,-a summer-storm Of short forewarning and of transient power. Ah me! how beautifully silent thou
Didst smile amidst the tempest! O'er thy roof Arch'd a fair rainbow, that to me appear'd A holy shelter to thee in the storm,
And made thee shine amid the brooding gloom, Bright as the morning star. Between the fits
Of the loud thunder, rose the voice of Psalms, A most soul-moving sound. There unappall'd, A choir of youths and maidens hymned their God, With tones that robb'd the thunder of its dread, Bidding it rave in vain.
In glory from his clouded tabernacle ; And, waken'd by the splendour, up the lark Rose with a loud and yet a louder song,
Chaunting to heaven the hymn of gratitude. The service closed; and o'er the church-yard spread The happy flock who in that peaceful fold Had worshipp'd Jesus, carrying to their homes The comfort of a faith that cannot die,
That to the young supplies a guiding light, Steadier than reason's and far brighter too, And to the aged sanctifies the grass
That grows upon the grave.
Methought, to tend a little flock like this, Loving them all, and by them all beloved! So felt their shepherd on that Sabbath-morn Returning their kind smiles;—a pious man, Content in this lone vale to teach the truths Our Saviour taught, nor wishing other praise Than of his great task-master. Yet his youth Not unadorn'd with science, nor the lore Becoming in their prime accomplish'd men, Told that among the worldly eminent
Might lie his shining way :-but, wiser far, He to the shades of solitude retired,
The birth-place of his fathers, and there vow'd His talents and his virtues, rarest both,
To God who gave them, rendering by his voice This beauteous chapel still more beautiful, And the blameless dwellers in this quiet dale Happier in life and death.
WHERE the chilling north-wind blows, Where the weeds so wildly wave, Mourn'd by the weeping willow,
Wash'd by the beating billow,
Lies the youthful poets grave!
Beneath yon little eminence, Mark'd by the grass green turf,
The winding sheet his form incloses, On the cold rock his head reposes, Near him foams the troubled surf!
Roars around his tomb the ocean, Pensive sleeps the moon-beam there,
Naiads love to wreathe his urn, Dryads thither hie to mourn,
Fairy music melts in air.
On his tomb the village virgins, Love to drop the tribute tear;
Stealing from the groves around,
Soft they tread the hallow'd ground,. And scatter wild flowers o'er his bier!
By the cold earth mantled
Pale and lifeless lies his form,
Patters on his grave the storm;
Silent now his tuneful numbers,
Here the son of genius slumbers
Stranger mark his funeral stone!
"Yes! there are real Mourners-I have seen A fair, sad Girl, mild, suffering, and serene; Attention (through the day) her duties claim'd, And to be useful as resign'd she aim'd;
Neatly she drest, nor vainly seem'd t' expect Pity for grief, or pardon for neglect; But when her wearied Parents sunk to sleep, She sought her place to meditate and weep: Then to her mind was all the past displayed, That faithful memory brings to sorrow's aid: For then she thought on one regretted youth, Her tender trust, and his unquestion'd truth; In ev'ry place she wander'd, where they'd been, And sadly-sacred held the parting scene;
Where last for Sea he took his leave-that place With double interest would she nightly trace: For long the courtship was, and he would say, Each time he sail'd," this once and then the day:" Yet prudence tarried, but when last he went, He drew from pitying love a full consent.
'Happy he sail'd, and great the care she took, That he should softly sleep, and smartly look; White was his better linen, and his check Was made more trim than any on the deck; And every comfort men at Sea can know, Was her's to buy, to make, and to bestow: For he to Greenland'sail'd, and much she told, How he should guard against the climate's cold;
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