The poems and literary prose of Alexander Wilson ... for the first time fully collected and compared with the original and early editions ... edited ... by the Rev. Alexander B. Grosart ... with portrait, illustrations, &c |
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THOUGHTS IN A CHURCHYARD. |
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 | The poems and literary prose of Alexander Wilson |  |
THOUGHTS IN A CHURCHYARD.
Earth's highest station ends in, ‘Here he lies’;
And, ‘dust to dust,’ concludes her noblest song.
Young.
And, ‘dust to dust,’ concludes her noblest song.
Young.
Again, O Sadness! soft'ning pow'r, again
I woo thee, thoughtful, from this letter'd stone;
And hail, thou comes! to view the dreary scene,
Where ghastly Death has fixt his awful throne.
I woo thee, thoughtful, from this letter'd stone;
And hail, thou comes! to view the dreary scene,
Where ghastly Death has fixt his awful throne.
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How lone, how solemn seems each view around,
I see, at distance, oh! distracting sight!
I see the tomb—the humble grassy mound,
Where he now lies, once all my soul's delight!
I see, at distance, oh! distracting sight!
I see the tomb—the humble grassy mound,
Where he now lies, once all my soul's delight!
A youth more gen'rous, more humanely kind,
A friend more loving, or a heart more brave;
Ne'er breath'd a being from th'eternal mind,
Nor fell a victim to the cruel grave.
A friend more loving, or a heart more brave;
Ne'er breath'd a being from th'eternal mind,
Nor fell a victim to the cruel grave.
But cease, ye tears, nor thus incessant flow,
And still these tumults, oh! thou bleeding heart;
Methinks his Shade soft whispers, ‘Wait the blow,
And soon we'll meet, ne'er, ne'er again to part.’
And still these tumults, oh! thou bleeding heart;
Methinks his Shade soft whispers, ‘Wait the blow,
And soon we'll meet, ne'er, ne'er again to part.’
Here stands the artist's tomb, in splendour rear'd,
And all the pomp surviving Art can give;
But will hoar Time the pillar'd dome regard,
And shall its pride to endless ages live?
And all the pomp surviving Art can give;
But will hoar Time the pillar'd dome regard,
And shall its pride to endless ages live?
No—though the marble seems to start to life,
Tho' firm as rock the structure rears its head;
Time's cank'ring jaws will end the daring strife,
And lay it level with th'unhonour'd dead.
Tho' firm as rock the structure rears its head;
Time's cank'ring jaws will end the daring strife,
And lay it level with th'unhonour'd dead.
Ye lonely heaps, ye bones, ye grim sculls, say,
Must I be stretch'd cold, lifeless in the dust;
Must this poor head be wrapt in putrid clay,
And glare like you?—Ye murmur back—‘It must.’
Must I be stretch'd cold, lifeless in the dust;
Must this poor head be wrapt in putrid clay,
And glare like you?—Ye murmur back—‘It must.’
Then what avail thy fleeting joys, O Time?
Thy bliss uncertain, when such truths are sure;
May these scenes teach me to condemn this clime,
And seek that bliss, those joys that shall endure.
Thy bliss uncertain, when such truths are sure;
May these scenes teach me to condemn this clime,
And seek that bliss, those joys that shall endure.
These are thy spoils, thou grisly monarch, Death!
Grim pleas'd thou stalks above the low-laid train;
Each sculptur'd stone, each poor, low grassy wreath,
Thou eyes as trophies of thy dreadful fame.
Grim pleas'd thou stalks above the low-laid train;
Each sculptur'd stone, each poor, low grassy wreath,
Thou eyes as trophies of thy dreadful fame.
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But now, proud lord, thy reign shall have an end,
Tho' nought on earth can now resist its force;
Yet, shalt thou fall beneath a mightier hand,
And yield thy weapons, and thy meagre horse.
Tho' nought on earth can now resist its force;
Yet, shalt thou fall beneath a mightier hand,
And yield thy weapons, and thy meagre horse.
In that dread day, when from the bellowing clouds,
The trump's lone sound shall shake th'affrighted earth,
When these, and millions struggling from their shrouds,
Shall wake to mis'ry or to endless mirth:
The trump's lone sound shall shake th'affrighted earth,
When these, and millions struggling from their shrouds,
Shall wake to mis'ry or to endless mirth:
When Time shall cease in scanty stream to flow,
And earth and stars in endless ruin sink;
Then heaven's high King, with one triumphant blow,
Shall dash thee headlong from existence' brink.
And earth and stars in endless ruin sink;
Then heaven's high King, with one triumphant blow,
Shall dash thee headlong from existence' brink.
But, see! sad Ev'ning spreads her sable veil,
The chilly breeze bleak ruffles o'er the lawn;
For once, adieu; ye silent heaps, farewell,
Perhaps I join you ere to-morrow's dawn.
The chilly breeze bleak ruffles o'er the lawn;
For once, adieu; ye silent heaps, farewell,
Perhaps I join you ere to-morrow's dawn.
Oft let me stray where these lone captives lie,
And, sad and thoughtful, o'er the deep grave bend;
This is the place, Truth tells us with a sigh,
Where all our sorrows or our singings end.
And, sad and thoughtful, o'er the deep grave bend;
This is the place, Truth tells us with a sigh,
Where all our sorrows or our singings end.
| The poems and literary prose of Alexander Wilson | |