 | Lays for the Dead |  |
91
TO A DEPARTED FRIEND.
Long months of wandering past, I came
To seek thy home, and it look'd the same
As when I bade these scenes farewell,
On fair Cornubia's shores to dwell;
The hill was there, and there the vale,
And thy favorite flowers perfum'd the gale;
But a cloud came o'er my conscious brow
As I reach'd the gate—for, where wert thou?
To seek thy home, and it look'd the same
As when I bade these scenes farewell,
On fair Cornubia's shores to dwell;
The hill was there, and there the vale,
And thy favorite flowers perfum'd the gale;
But a cloud came o'er my conscious brow
As I reach'd the gate—for, where wert thou?
I gaz'd around, but I vainly sought,
That eye once beaming with mind and thought,
That smile which welcome sweetly spoke,
Ere yet the mild words of greeting broke.
And I wish'd in vain that voice to hear,
Whose rich deep tones could delight my ear!
That tongue of kindness was silent now,
And I turn'd to weep—for, where wert thou?
That eye once beaming with mind and thought,
That smile which welcome sweetly spoke,
Ere yet the mild words of greeting broke.
And I wish'd in vain that voice to hear,
Whose rich deep tones could delight my ear!
That tongue of kindness was silent now,
And I turn'd to weep—for, where wert thou?
92
Alas! in the dark abode of death!
And laid the stone of the vault beneath!
For thee had the solemn death-bell toll'd!
O'er thee had been strew'd that startling mould,
Which tells that the lov'd and shrouded clay,
For ever from sight is sinking away!
And mourning friends through the glist'ning tear,
Had look'd their last on thy honor'd bier!
But regret for thee were weak as vain—
I left thee stretch'd on a bed of pain,
And wan and worn was thy perishing frame,
But thy faith in Christ all pangs o'ercame!
And he, who led to the healing source,
With the martyr's cup gave the martyr's force;
Then hence the gloom of my tearful brow,
And the murmuring accents “oh! where art thou?”
To heaven I look with thankful heart,
And with joy exclaim, “'t is there thou art!”
And laid the stone of the vault beneath!
For thee had the solemn death-bell toll'd!
O'er thee had been strew'd that startling mould,
Which tells that the lov'd and shrouded clay,
For ever from sight is sinking away!
And mourning friends through the glist'ning tear,
Had look'd their last on thy honor'd bier!
But regret for thee were weak as vain—
I left thee stretch'd on a bed of pain,
And wan and worn was thy perishing frame,
But thy faith in Christ all pangs o'ercame!
And he, who led to the healing source,
With the martyr's cup gave the martyr's force;
Then hence the gloom of my tearful brow,
And the murmuring accents “oh! where art thou?”
To heaven I look with thankful heart,
And with joy exclaim, “'t is there thou art!”
| Lays for the Dead | |