University of Virginia Library

ON THE DEATH OF A YOUNG ARTIST.

The breath of morn and May,
Soft as a spirit's influence, drew him forth
To spend with Nature one more tranquil day,
And look his last on this majestic earth.
Reclining on her breast,
He reads once more her sweet, benignant face,
Then peacefully to rest
Sinks like a child, there, in her great embrace.
Alone! no human eye
Hung o'er him, as he lay, with yearning love;
Yet God's blue, tender sky
Looked down upon him through the pines above.

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So near—and yet alone!
No kindred hand to smooth his dying bed;
But a low plaintive moan,
As of a spirit, stirred the boughs o'erhead.
It was God's spirit near!
“For so He giveth his belovèd sleep,”
And strews the leafy bier,
And bids his angels watch around him keep.
He was—and is—at home;
Gone hence, attended by a spirit-band,
Where death no more can come,
He dwells now in his native spirit-land.
Was it not meet that so—
By heaven's mysterious whisper called away—
That gentle one should go
Hence, in the tenderness of life's pure May;
As the breeze dies away—
Mysteriously dies;
As dies the fading light, at close of day,
In summer skies!