 | Poems of home and country |  |
72
AGATHA E. CLAFLIN.
Is thy final rest more peaceful,—
Is thy sleep more sweet, dear child,
Brought from Rome's gorgeous sepulchres,
Back to thy native wild?
Or breathes the wind more gently,
Where the chestnut and the pine
Above the tomb that holds thy dust
Their clustering branches twine?
Is thy sleep more sweet, dear child,
Brought from Rome's gorgeous sepulchres,
Back to thy native wild?
Or breathes the wind more gently,
Where the chestnut and the pine
Above the tomb that holds thy dust
Their clustering branches twine?
What was wanting in the shadows
Of old imperial Rome,
That thou sighedst, midst its grandeur,
For thy dearer western home?
Those fragrant airs and sunny bowers,—
Could they not weave a spell,
With power to win, above the spot
Thy young heart loved so well?
Of old imperial Rome,
That thou sighedst, midst its grandeur,
For thy dearer western home?
Those fragrant airs and sunny bowers,—
Could they not weave a spell,
With power to win, above the spot
Thy young heart loved so well?
'T was there the proud Jugurtha,
Subdued by famine, died;
But there, with bread immortal,
Was thy spirit satisfied?
He, in his lonely prison chained,
Perished in heathen gloom;
Thou soaredst upward, free of wing,
And angels bade thee come.
Subdued by famine, died;
But there, with bread immortal,
Was thy spirit satisfied?
He, in his lonely prison chained,
Perished in heathen gloom;
Thou soaredst upward, free of wing,
And angels bade thee come.
And there a mightier warrior
Waited his heavenly crown,
Found a martyr's wreath around his brow,
And laid his armor down.
Brave Christian souls in Roman soil
Repose in holy rest,
As sinks the gorgeous, crimson sun
In glory in the west.
Waited his heavenly crown,
73
And laid his armor down.
Brave Christian souls in Roman soil
Repose in holy rest,
As sinks the gorgeous, crimson sun
In glory in the west.
Thy footsteps trod the pathways
Of grand, historic Rome;
Thy gaze, admiring, rested
On picture, church, and dome.
Why, yearning with a tender love,
Did thine eyes look back to see
The landscape round that cherished home,
Where thy young soul longed to be?
Of grand, historic Rome;
Thy gaze, admiring, rested
On picture, church, and dome.
Why, yearning with a tender love,
Did thine eyes look back to see
The landscape round that cherished home,
Where thy young soul longed to be?
Thy weary wanderings ended
In a city grander far
Than home, or Rome,—in heaven,—
As the sun outshines a star;
Earth on thy young eyes faded,
As fades a glittering toy,
Bright opened on thy vision
Heaven's home of love and joy.
In a city grander far
Than home, or Rome,—in heaven,—
As the sun outshines a star;
Earth on thy young eyes faded,
As fades a glittering toy,
Bright opened on thy vision
Heaven's home of love and joy.
Welcome again, fair sleeper!
Peace to thy precious dust!
Rest calmly with thy kindred
Till the rising of the just.
The winds shall sing above thee,
Where the chestnut and the pine,
In thy own dear native forests,
Their clustering branches twine.
Peace to thy precious dust!
Rest calmly with thy kindred
Till the rising of the just.
The winds shall sing above thee,
Where the chestnut and the pine,
In thy own dear native forests,
Their clustering branches twine.
74
Thy life, too early smitten,
Lingers around us still,
As day-beams, after sunset,
Shine, radiant, o'er the hill;
Thy loving voice, still sounding,
Forbids us to rebel,—
God gave, and God hath taken,—
God, who does all things well.
Lingers around us still,
As day-beams, after sunset,
Shine, radiant, o'er the hill;
Thy loving voice, still sounding,
Forbids us to rebel,—
God gave, and God hath taken,—
God, who does all things well.
May, 1874.
| Poems of home and country | |