University of Virginia Library

previous section Minor Poems, including Napoleon
next section
140

THE GRAVE.

I

I love to muse, when none are nigh,
Where yew-tree branches wave,
And hear the winds, with softest sigh,
Sweep o'er the grassy grave.

II

It seems a mournful music, meet
To soothe a lonely hour;
Sad though it be, it is more sweet
Than that from Pleasure's bower.

III

I know not why it should be sad,
Or seem a mournful tone,
Unless by man the spot be clad
With terrors not its own.
141

IV

To nature it seems just as dear
As earth's most cheerful scite;
The dew-drops glitter there as clear,
The sun-beams shine as bright.

V

The showers descend as softly there,
As on the loveliest flowers;
Nor does the moonlight seem more fair
On Beauty's sweetest bowers.

VI

“Ay! but within—within there sleeps
One, o'er whose mould'ring clay
The loathsome earth-worm winds and creeps,
And wastes that form away.”

VII

And what of that? The frame that feeds
The reptile tribe below,
As little of their banquet heeds,
As of the winds that blow.
142

VIII

Once more upon my musing strain
A voice appears to break:—
“But if he sleep to rise again!
Should that no awe awake?”

IX

And yet, perhaps, the voice that now
Thus breaks on fancy's ear,
When life was thron'd upon that brow,
Spake not one word of fear.

X

But now, when fear and hope are things
Which can do nought to save;
Each starts to life, and vainly clings
Around the silent grave.

XI

'Tis strange! we know we live—to die!
And die—again to live!
Yet, while these truths might good supply,
We slight what they would give.
143

XII

But, were we wise, our serious thought
Beside the spot we fear,
Might make it one with blessings fraught,
To hallow'd feelings dear.

XIII

To have it such, we must not view
That spot with slavish dread;
Nor paint in fancy's darkest hue
The chambers of the dead.

XIV

A grave-yard is a school to teach
The living how to live;
And has a silent power to preach,
Which pulpits cannot give.

XV

But its most eloquent appeal
Is not to fear alone;
To hearts that deeply, justly feel,
It has a gentler tone.
144

XVI

A tone too gentle far to break
On ears that hearken not!
But known to hearts that inly ache
To share that quiet spot.

XVII

To such it says, “With patience bear
Your load of life awhile;
With meek submission shun despair,
And view me with a smile.

XVIII

“If friends desert, if foes oppress,
But brief their power can be;
Look unto Him, whose love can bless,
Triumphant over me.

XIX

“To those by Him redeem'd, my bed
Is softer far than down:
Here you may rest the aching head,
Nor heed each worldly frown.
145

XX

“Enfolded in my calm embrace,
The heart can heave no sigh;
The mournful glance no longer trace
‘Unkindness’ alter'd eye .'

XXI

“No more upon the wounded ear
Reproach or taunt can fall;
Nor accents cold, from friends once dear,
The keenest pang of all!

XXII

“No longer tutor'd lips must feign
The smile more sad than tears;
Here cheeks are pale, but not with pain,
Hearts cold, but not with fears.

XXIII

“To them who die in peace with Heaven,
Its gates of pearl I ope;
And am, like Achor's Valley, given
To be the door of hope!”
 

Gray.

previous section Minor Poems, including Napoleon
next section