 | [Poems by Whittier in] A Study of Whittier's Apprenticeship as a Poet |  |
THE CHURCH-YARD
It was a clear, calm night of June;
On mound and wall and ivy wreath,
Slept the pale radiance of the moon,
Like beauty in the arms of death,—
It was a blessed season—such
As spirits choose for wandering forth,
When, trembling to their viewless touch,
The lyre of Heaven is heard on earth.
On mound and wall and ivy wreath,
Slept the pale radiance of the moon,
Like beauty in the arms of death,—
It was a blessed season—such
As spirits choose for wandering forth,
When, trembling to their viewless touch,
The lyre of Heaven is heard on earth.
The church-yard, with its solemn lines
Of pale grey stones—and crumbling wall—
Its dark-green mounds, like sacred shrines
Where weeping love might yield its all,
Bathed in the solemn moonshine now
Seemed all unfit for earthly things,
Save as a spot for man to bow
His heart to old rememberings
Of love that bloomed no more for him,
Of severed hearts, and sundered faith,
Of all that makes our morning dim—
The harvest and the spoil of death!
Of pale grey stones—and crumbling wall—
Its dark-green mounds, like sacred shrines
Where weeping love might yield its all,
Bathed in the solemn moonshine now
Seemed all unfit for earthly things,
Save as a spot for man to bow
His heart to old rememberings
Of love that bloomed no more for him,
Of severed hearts, and sundered faith,
Of all that makes our morning dim—
The harvest and the spoil of death!
There came a man—with hurried tread
He passed above the peaceful dead—
One long, stern glance around he flung,
As if he feared that man should know
The feelings of despair that wrung
His spirit in its hour of wo.
He knelt him by a mound of earth
And clear the ghastly moonlight fell
Along a brow that shadowed forth
The anguish and the pride of Hell!
He passed above the peaceful dead—
One long, stern glance around he flung,
As if he feared that man should know
The feelings of despair that wrung
His spirit in its hour of wo.
He knelt him by a mound of earth
And clear the ghastly moonlight fell
Along a brow that shadowed forth
The anguish and the pride of Hell!
199
Contrition, mighty as the wrong
Came o'er his haunted mind at last,
And phrensied feelings smothered long
O'er heart and brain in lightning passed.
Well might he mourn—a fairer flower
Ne'er bloomed to fend the spoiler's pride,
To be the idol of an hour,
Then flung, a worthless weed, aside.
Came o'er his haunted mind at last,
And phrensied feelings smothered long
O'er heart and brain in lightning passed.
Well might he mourn—a fairer flower
Ne'er bloomed to fend the spoiler's pride,
To be the idol of an hour,
Then flung, a worthless weed, aside.
She died, as high souls always die—
She asked no pity, no relief;
But veiled from friendship's searching eye
The secret of her early grief,—
And thus she faded—life went out,
As vanishes some gentle star,
When morning's light is drawn about
The pathway of its golden car.
She asked no pity, no relief;
But veiled from friendship's searching eye
The secret of her early grief,—
And thus she faded—life went out,
As vanishes some gentle star,
When morning's light is drawn about
The pathway of its golden car.
Philadelphia Album, April 1, 1829 (From American Manufacturer)
| [Poems by Whittier in] A Study of Whittier's Apprenticeship as a Poet | |