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201
SHE'S GONE LIKE A STAR ON THE BILLOW.
[_]
Elegy on a young friend, who had been seeking the recovery of lost health among the West India Islands, and whose death and funeral service took place on board the British steam-ship “Dee,” when on her homeward passage.
She's gone, like a star we beheld on the billow!
She passed like the sunset, that kindled the wave,
And gilded the bark, where her life's evening pillow
Was rocked by the waters, to-morrow her grave.
And, pure as the light from that blue ocean fading,
To leave it all dark at the dying of day,
A glory serene, her sweet spirit pervading,
Appeared in its smile of farewell to the clay.
She passed like the sunset, that kindled the wave,
And gilded the bark, where her life's evening pillow
Was rocked by the waters, to-morrow her grave.
And, pure as the light from that blue ocean fading,
To leave it all dark at the dying of day,
A glory serene, her sweet spirit pervading,
Appeared in its smile of farewell to the clay.
The fond ones,
now bending, with anguish and weeping,
While sorrow's warm fountains gush o'er the cold shrine,
The seal on her lips, on her eye calmly sleeping,
Must not wish to break!—'t is an impress divine.
The while must they think of the many to mourn her,
Who wait her return to her loved native shore;—
That they, on their hearts who so fondly have borne her,
Shall clasp or behold her in time never more.
While sorrow's warm fountains gush o'er the cold shrine,
The seal on her lips, on her eye calmly sleeping,
Must not wish to break!—'t is an impress divine.
The while must they think of the many to mourn her,
Who wait her return to her loved native shore;—
That they, on their hearts who so fondly have borne her,
Shall clasp or behold her in time never more.
The bright, flowery Isles, and the soft tropic breezes,
Dispensed for her breast their life-balsam in vain;
Its pulse has been touched by the angel who freezes
The false hectic rose, and the current of pain.
'T is morn on the waters.—'T is noon of the morrow:—
'T is sunset, again pouring gold o'er the sea;
But sad is the group, who, with sable and sorrow
Their centre surround, on the deck of the Dee!
Dispensed for her breast their life-balsam in vain;
Its pulse has been touched by the angel who freezes
The false hectic rose, and the current of pain.
202
'T is sunset, again pouring gold o'er the sea;
But sad is the group, who, with sable and sorrow
Their centre surround, on the deck of the Dee!
The flags of two nations, that dark coffin draping,
Droop round the young form in its peaceful repose;
From stranger and friend sighs and tears are escaping,
As sympathy's balm for the torn bosom flows.
A prayer from the servant of God is ascending,
From off the vast flood to the high world of light:—
'T is over,—the last solemn service is ending;—
'T is finished;—the loved one has vanished from sight!
Droop round the young form in its peaceful repose;
From stranger and friend sighs and tears are escaping,
As sympathy's balm for the torn bosom flows.
A prayer from the servant of God is ascending,
From off the vast flood to the high world of light:—
'T is over,—the last solemn service is ending;—
'T is finished;—the loved one has vanished from sight!
'Mid coral, and amber, and pearls while she slumbers,
Composed in a crystalline cell will she rest;
And ocean's rich voice, in its holiest numbers,
A requiem ceaseless shall sound o'er her breast.
His own priceless jewel her Saviour has taken,
And laid the dear casket beneath the sea-foam.
Whilst earth feels a void, of her presence forsaken,
The deep is her sepulchre,—Heaven is her home!
Composed in a crystalline cell will she rest;
And ocean's rich voice, in its holiest numbers,
A requiem ceaseless shall sound o'er her breast.
His own priceless jewel her Saviour has taken,
And laid the dear casket beneath the sea-foam.
Whilst earth feels a void, of her presence forsaken,
The deep is her sepulchre,—Heaven is her home!
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