Shall we, too, rise forgetful from our sleep,
And shall my soul that lies within your hand
Remember nothing, as the blowing sand
Forgets the palm where long blue shadows creep
When winds along the darkened desert sweep?
Or would it still remember, tho' it spanned
Yet, gentle shade! whether thou now does rove,
Thro' some blest vale, or ever verdant grove,
One moment listen to my grief and take
The softest vows that ever love can make.
For thee, all thoughts of pleasure I forgo,
For Thee, my tears shall never cease to flow;
Death in this tomb his weary bones hath laid,
Sick of dominion o’er the human kind;
Behold what devastations he hath made,
Survey the millions by his arm confined.
“Six thousand years has sovereign sway been mine,
None but myself can real glory claim;...
My son, thou wast my heart’s delight,
Thy morn of life was gay and cheery;
That morn has rushed to sudden night,
Thy father’s house is sad and dreary.
I held thee on my knee, my son!
And kissed thee laughing, kissed thee weeping;
Green be the turf above thee,
Friend of my better days!
None knew thee but to love thee,
Nor named thee but to praise.
Tears fell when thou wert dying,
From eyes unused to weep,
And long, where thou art lying,
Will tears the cold...
The melancholy days are come, the saddest of the year,
Of wailing winds, and naked woods, and meadows brown and sere.
Heaped in the hollows of the grove, the autumn leaves lie dead;
They rustle to the eddying gust, and to the rabbit’s tread.
The robin and the wren...
O thou great Wrong, that, through the slow-paced years,
Didst hold thy millions fettered, and didst wield
The scourge that drove the laborer to the field,
And turn a stony gaze on human tears,
Thy cruel reign is o’er;
Thy bondmen crouch no more...
It is not death to die,
To leave this weary road,
And, midst the brotherhood on high,
To be at home with God.
It is not death to close
The eye long dimmed by tears,
And wake in glorious repose,
To spend eternal years.
Her suffering ended with the day,
Yet lived she at its close,
And breathed the long; long night away
In statue-like repose.
But when the sun in all his state
Illumed the eastern skies,
She passed through Glory’s morning gate
How still the room is! But a while ago
The sound of sobbing voices vexed my ears,
And on my face there fell a rain of tears—
I scarce knew why or whence, but now I know.
For this sweet speaking silence, this surcease
Of the dumb, desperate struggle after...