 | The Vow of the Peacock, and Other Poems |  |
329
THE FIRST GRAVE.
[_]
[This poem originated in the circumstance of the first grave being formed in the churchyard of the new church at Brompton. The place had been recently a garden, and some of the flowers yet shewed themselves among the grass, where this one tenant, the forerunner of its population, had taken up his last abode.]
A single grave!—the only one
In this unbroken ground,
Where yet the garden leaf and flower
Are lingering around.
A single grave!—my heart has felt
How utterly alone
In crowded halls, were breathed for me
Not one familiar tone;
In this unbroken ground,
Where yet the garden leaf and flower
Are lingering around.
A single grave!—my heart has felt
How utterly alone
In crowded halls, were breathed for me
Not one familiar tone;
330
The shade where forest-trees shut out
All but the distant sky;—
I've felt the loneliness of night
When the dark winds pass'd by;
My pulse has quickened with its awe,
My lip has gasped for breath;
But what were they to such as this—
The solitude of death!
All but the distant sky;—
I've felt the loneliness of night
When the dark winds pass'd by;
My pulse has quickened with its awe,
My lip has gasped for breath;
But what were they to such as this—
The solitude of death!
A single grave!—we half forget
How sunder human ties,
When round the silent place of rest
A gathered kindred lies.
We stand beneath the haunted yew,
And watch each quiet tomb;
And in the ancient churchyard feel
Solemnity, not gloom:
How sunder human ties,
When round the silent place of rest
A gathered kindred lies.
We stand beneath the haunted yew,
And watch each quiet tomb;
And in the ancient churchyard feel
Solemnity, not gloom:
331
The place is purified with hope,
The hope that is of prayer;
And human love, and heavenward thought,
And pious faith, are there.
The wild flowers spring amid the grass;
And many a stone appears,
Carved by affection's memory,
Wet with affection's tears.
The hope that is of prayer;
And human love, and heavenward thought,
And pious faith, are there.
The wild flowers spring amid the grass;
And many a stone appears,
Carved by affection's memory,
Wet with affection's tears.
The golden chord which binds us all
Is loosed, not rent in twain;
And love, and hope, and fear, unite
To bring the past again.
But this grave is so desolate,
With no remembering stone,
No fellow-graves for sympathy—
'Tis utterly alone.
Is loosed, not rent in twain;
And love, and hope, and fear, unite
To bring the past again.
But this grave is so desolate,
With no remembering stone,
No fellow-graves for sympathy—
'Tis utterly alone.
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I do not know who sleeps beneath,
His history or name—
Whether if, lonely in his life,
He is in death the same:
Whether he died unloved, unmourned,
The last leaf on the bough;
Or, if some desolated hearth
Is weeping for him now.
His history or name—
Whether if, lonely in his life,
He is in death the same:
Whether he died unloved, unmourned,
The last leaf on the bough;
Or, if some desolated hearth
Is weeping for him now.
Perhaps this is too fanciful:—
Though single be his sod,
Yet not the less it has around
The presence of his God.
It may be weakness of the heart,
But yet its kindliest, best:
Better if in our selfish world
It could be less represt.
Though single be his sod,
Yet not the less it has around
The presence of his God.
It may be weakness of the heart,
But yet its kindliest, best:
Better if in our selfish world
It could be less represt.
333
Those gentler charities which draw
Man closer with his kind—
Those sweet humanities which make
The music which they find.
How many a bitter word 'twould hush—
How many a pang 'twould save,
If life more precious held those ties
Which sanctify the grave!
Man closer with his kind—
Those sweet humanities which make
The music which they find.
How many a bitter word 'twould hush—
How many a pang 'twould save,
If life more precious held those ties
Which sanctify the grave!
| The Vow of the Peacock, and Other Poems | |