 | Poems |  |
193
MONODY,
Written in a Grave-yard.
Turn, pilgrim, from the great highway!
Within this pale a moment stay
Your wild career!
Think, mortal, what it is to die—
A frigid corse outstretched to lie
On Death's cold bier.
Within this pale a moment stay
Your wild career!
Think, mortal, what it is to die—
A frigid corse outstretched to lie
On Death's cold bier.
Think of the dark and unseen end
To which your hasting footsteps tend—
Yea, pause and think!
A precipice may yawn before—
Perhaps your feet are even o'er
The crumbling brink!
To which your hasting footsteps tend—
Yea, pause and think!
A precipice may yawn before—
Perhaps your feet are even o'er
The crumbling brink!
Life is at best a transient gleam
Of sunlight on a ruffled stream—
'T is quickly gone!
And tending to a mighty fall,
The sweeping flood, engulphing all,
Steals darkly on.
Of sunlight on a ruffled stream—
'T is quickly gone!
And tending to a mighty fall,
The sweeping flood, engulphing all,
Steals darkly on.
'T is like a merry tale, well told,
When pleasant friends communion hold
With bosom friends;
The voice of mirth that fills the ear—
Itself well-pleased, well-ope'd to hear—
In silence ends.
When pleasant friends communion hold
With bosom friends;
The voice of mirth that fills the ear—
Itself well-pleased, well-ope'd to hear—
In silence ends.
Hope, fondest, brightest dream of man!
Embrace thee in his arms who can,
Dear phantom fair!
Thou form illusive to the sight,
Sprung from the beaming fount of light,
On wings of air!
Embrace thee in his arms who can,
Dear phantom fair!
Thou form illusive to the sight,
Sprung from the beaming fount of light,
On wings of air!
194
How oft along life's rugged road
You ease the pilgrim of his load,
And hide his doom!
The while as distant as the star
That glimmers faintly from afar,
'Mid evening's gloom.
You ease the pilgrim of his load,
And hide his doom!
The while as distant as the star
That glimmers faintly from afar,
'Mid evening's gloom.
'T is is only o'er the gloomy grave
Thy flame phosphoric shines to save,
With ray serene;
Steer for it, pilgrim, full of cheer;
Carry your helm exempt from fear,
With conscience clean.
Thy flame phosphoric shines to save,
With ray serene;
Steer for it, pilgrim, full of cheer;
Carry your helm exempt from fear,
With conscience clean.
Mankind—how varied is the race!
How different are the forms we trace
O'er world's wide stage!
The nursling's tender fragile form,
The full grown man with vigor warm,
And tottering age.
How different are the forms we trace
O'er world's wide stage!
The nursling's tender fragile form,
The full grown man with vigor warm,
And tottering age.
Some like the wanton butterfly,
On mealy wings of gaudy dye,
Flit life away;
How false the coloring they show!
How useless! and when tempests blow,
How weak are they!
On mealy wings of gaudy dye,
Flit life away;
How false the coloring they show!
How useless! and when tempests blow,
How weak are they!
Some like the wolf in ambush lie
To tear the careless passer by,
When none can help;
The slanderer plays his subtle game,
In heart, if not in form the same—
The hell-born whelp!
To tear the careless passer by,
When none can help;
The slanderer plays his subtle game,
In heart, if not in form the same—
The hell-born whelp!
Some like the lofty, noble pine,
Stand firm on Error's dark confine,
To winds a prey;
Firm to the last it bides the shock
That makes the lesser structures rock,
And spreads dismay.
Stand firm on Error's dark confine,
To winds a prey;
195
That makes the lesser structures rock,
And spreads dismay.
Perchance the lightning's vivid chain
Shivers the stately tree in twain,
And mars its form;
Genius, such fate is often thine!
I liken thee to mountain pine
Rent by the storm.
Shivers the stately tree in twain,
And mars its form;
Genius, such fate is often thine!
I liken thee to mountain pine
Rent by the storm.
But, pilgrim, to the grave at last,
Like leaves before a nipping blast,
Men crowding come;
This earth, with all its “lights and shades,”
Its beetling crags and sunny glades,
Is not their home.
Like leaves before a nipping blast,
Men crowding come;
This earth, with all its “lights and shades,”
Its beetling crags and sunny glades,
Is not their home.
Where is it then? Death only knows.
The Holy Writ the pathway shows—
Walk thou therein;
Fear not to take it for a guide,
And hasten o'er, with rapid stride,
The wilds of sin.
The Holy Writ the pathway shows—
Walk thou therein;
Fear not to take it for a guide,
And hasten o'er, with rapid stride,
The wilds of sin.
Its precepts treasure in your heart;
Act well and faithfully your part,
And bide the test;
And for a future home you have
Its promise—beyond the grave
A heaven of rest.
Act well and faithfully your part,
And bide the test;
And for a future home you have
Its promise—beyond the grave
A heaven of rest.
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