The heir of the world, and lesser poems

It is the solemn dead of night, and not a sound of earth
Salutes the calm and dreamy heaven, o'er all our woes outspread,
And, while the still and holy hour to heavenly thoughts gives birth,
My swelling heart shall breathe its sighs and sorrows o'er the dead.

Up to the blue and starlight sky I lift my weary soul,
And heaven seems bending, with a smile, to hear my fond complaint;
And angel breathings, eloquent, along the concave roll—
The selfsame sounds we often hear—so lonely and so faint.

It is a fearful thing to feel the twinings of our love
Rent, broken, torn from every scene of human pleasure here,
It is an awful thing to launch upon the worlds above,
Guided by doubt, beset with wo, and followed by dark fear.

The vale of death! the desolate, the unaccompanied way,
That all have trod, and all must tread, in darkness and alone!
Where none can weep, on bosoms dear, their agonies away,
Nor smile in hope of joys to come, nor think of pleasures flown!

Between two dread eternities it is a narrow road,
That through a land of shadows, leads unto a world unknown;

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And not a track to point the way, where all earth's sons have trod,
Guides the dark wanderer of the tomb to heaven's eternal throne.

Rest on thy cold undreaming bed, thou dear beloved one!
Yet not unconscious of the love that thou hast left behind;
I would not that the tears I shed should now to thee be known,
But that thy heart should blend with mine, like odours with the wind.

I think not of thee as thou sleepst in darkness and in dust,
But as thou wert in other years, my lovely chosen bride,
And as thou art, in airy realms, among the blessed just,
Far, far beyond earth's many woes, its passions and its pride.

Oh! when I saw thee pale and cold and breathless in thy shroud,
Thine eyes for ever closed—thy heart without one throb for me,
I could not weep, I could not wail my utter wo aloud,
But stood and gaz'd upon thee there in awful agony.

I saw thee coffin'd, darken'd, (ah! but all was dark before!)
Borne from thy home, my heart, and laid beneath the mould'ring clay.
Then gentle hands did guide me thence—I thought and felt no more
For many a long and lingering night, and many a sunless day.

212

My voice was like the desert wind, that, through a ruin'd tomb,
In hollow gusts, sighs mournfully above the moulder'd dead;
My heart lay silent in despair—a world of waving gloom,
And sun and stars, and life and love, all from my memory fled.

But, one by one, the images of other days returned;
I saw thee by my side again in all thy beauty's bloom;
I saw thee fading, dying, dead: I felt how I had mourn'd—
Then I went forth to weep and pray beside thine early tomb.

But ever thou hast been with me through every change in life,
In my heart's depth thine image dwells, and never can it fade;
Like many a fair and precious thing with perfect beauty rife,
That blossom'd for a time and then within an hour decay'd.

Ye far, bright stars! the poetry of the autumnal heaven,
That breathes mysterious influence o'er the upsoaring mind!
Ye oracles of destinies! in mercy to us given,
To lead us to the glorious skies when earth is left behind.

I oft have watch'd your courses through the beautiful expanse,
And joy in grief hath come to me in still and lonely hours,
For seraph spirits seem'd to meet my every upward glance,
And oft my heart hath heard their songs amid these holy bowers.

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When heaven thus meets me, all around, and all I love is there,
I will not murmur nor repine that I in dust am here;
But thou, lov'd one! shalt sooth the wo that fain would be despair,
Didst thou not blot my frailties, love! with thy forgiving tear.

University of Virginia Library

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