University of Virginia Library

LINES ON THE DEATH OF RICHARD ALFRED MILLIKIN.

Farewell my harp—I may not sing
Again to thee the hymn of joy;
For Cypress wreaths on every string,
Thy wonted tones destroy.
Farewell the strains he deigned to hear,
(Tho' feeble they) with patient ear;
His own the while, still flowing clear,
As purest fountains glide.
He's sunk to rest—his Harp's unstrung,
On weeping willows it is hung,
O'er sighing reeds—where oft' he sung,
By his own River's side.
On whose green banks he loved to stray,
From the high source in mountain glen,
Thro' deep defile, and rushy fen,
To where it winds in spreading plain,
Thro' Flora's blossom'd way.
Where oft' the muse had loved to guide
His barque along the grassy side,
To meet the wave where navies ride,
In broad and ample bay.
Whether by learning's lamp he staid,
By science led, with her delay'd,
Or with the muse delighted stray'd
By Luvia's winding stream;
His learned lore, his Harp's sweet sound,
His science drawn from depths profound,
In playful mood were scatter'd round,
Virtue his dearest theme.
The glowing good, the various art,
Of all that fills the human heart,
To him was fully known:
Yet never slightest word exprest
By him could pain the meanest breast,
And goodness still he ever drest
With lustre by his own.
Gone is my muse of graphic lore;
For he who long her semblance bore
To me, thro' nature's wilds no more
Can guide my erring way.
Adieu,—for now I may not claim,
Of all that binds the brow of fame,
One sparkling leaf,—for with him came
The light that shone upon my name,
Extinguished is the ray.
Let wealth erect with lavish cost,
The praise of fools by pride emboss'd,
Their every deed forgotten, lost;
Their fame lies on the tomb.
Unlike to that which memory rears,
For him, where ever fresh appears,
Nurtured by love's, by friendship's tears,
Virtue's unfading bloom.