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THE DEPARTED.
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 


243

THE DEPARTED.

Tell me, O my father!—mother!—
For I pine to know;
Tell me, O my sister!—brother!
Seen no more below;
Quickly following one another,
Whither did ye go?
Thou, in youth's full morning glory
Like a flower of May;—
Thou, in life's not half told story,—
Ere its noontide ray;—
Ye, in trembling age, and hoary,
How ye passed away!
Oft, when stars, with vigil-beaming
From yon azure deep,
Keep their holy lustre streaming
O'er a world asleep,
And in midnight slumber dreaming,
Do I wake to weep.
Heavy though the notes of sorrow
Through the night-hours drawn,
Sadder hue is grief to borrow
From the coming dawn.
I alone must meet the morrow;
For ye all are gone!

244

Then your silent, empty places
Mock my aching sight,
Where your beaming, kindred faces
Were the life,—the light;
While ye 've left no spirit traces
In your viewless flight!
If to golden harps ye 're singing
Songs of home, above,
One sweet branch, a token, bringing,
May the Heavenly Dove
Show me, that your upward winging
Broke no tie of love!