(Nor for you, for one alone, Blossoms and branches green to coffins all I bring, For fresh as the morning, thus would I chant a song for you, O sane and sacred death. .) Come, lovely and soothing Death; Undulate round the world; serenely arriving, arriving, Sooner, or later, delicate Death. Praised be the fathomless Universe For life and joy, and for objects and knowledge curious; Dark Mother, always gliding near, with soft feet, Have none chanted for thee a chant of fullest welcome ? Then I chant it for thee; I glorify thee above all. I bring thee a song that when thou must indeed come, come unfalteringly. Approach, encompassing Death-strong deliveress, idea! When it is so, when thou hast taken them, I joyously sing the dead, From me to thee glad serenades, the all. Dances for thee I propose, saluting thee, adornments and feastings for thee, And the sights of the open landscape and the high-spread sky are fitting, And life and the fields, and the huge and thoughtful night. The night in silence under many a star, The ocean shore and the husky whispering wave whose voice I know, Over the tree-tops I float thee a song, Over the rising and sinking waves, over the myriad fields and the Over the dense-packed cities all and the teeming wharves and ways, WALT WHITMAN (Memories of President Lincoln). 1061. FROM THE MEETING' I ASK no organ's soulless breath To drone the themes of life and death, No altar candle-lit by day, No cool philosophy to teach No pulpit hammered by the fist I know how well the fathers taught, What work the ancient schoolmen wrought; I reverence old-time faith and men, But God is near us now as then ; His force of love is still unspent, His hate of sin as imminent; And still the measure of our needs Outgrows the cramping bounds of creeds; The manna gathered yesterday Already savours of decay; Doubts to the world's child-heart unknown The smoking thunderbolts of Question us now from star and Jove. stone. 1062. VESTA J. G. WHITTIER. O CHRIST of God! whose life and death Our own have reconciled, Most quietly, most tenderly Take home Thy star-named child! Thy grace is in her patient eyes, Thy words are on her tongue; The very silence round her seems As if the angels sung. Her smile is as a listening child's Who hears its mother call; The lilies of Thy perfect peace About her pillow fall. She leans from out our clinging arms To rest herself in Thine; Alone to Thee, dear Lord, can we Our well-beloved resign! Oh, less for her than for ourselves J. G. WHITTIER. 1063. FROM 'CHILD-SONGS' STILL linger in our noon cf time And childhood had its litanies 1064. COME, CHLOE, AND GIVE ME SWEET KISSES COME, Chloe, and give me sweet kisses, Then, prithee, my charmer, be kind, Count the flowers that enamel its fields, Go number the stars in the heaven, And twist round thy limbs like a vine. My life on thy lips shall be spent! SIR C. HANBURY WILLIAMS. 1065. BROADWAY THE shadows lay along Broad- 'Twas near the twilight tide, Was walking in her pride. Peace charmed the street beneath And Honour charmed the And all astir looked kind on And called her good as fair; She kept with care her beauties rare And the rich came not to woo : But honoured well are charms to sell, If priests the selling do. Now walking there was one more fair A slight girl, lily-pale; And she had unseen company To make the spirit quail: 'Twixt Want and Scorn she walked forlorn, And nothing could avail. No mercy now can clear her brow But the sin forgiven by Christ in Heaven, N. P. WILLIS. Most gifted Restoratio 1066. EPITAPH ON CHARLES II HERE lies our Sovereign Lord the King, Who never said a foolish thing, Nor ever did a wise one. J. WILMOT, EARL OF ROCHESTER. 1067. CONSTANCY I CANNOT change, as others do, Since that poor swain that sighs for you, No, Phillis, no! your heart to move, A surer way I'll try, And to revenge my slighted love, Will still love on, will still love on, and die! When killed with grief Amyntas lies, The sighs that now unpitied rise, That welcome hour, that ends this smart, For such a faithful, tender heart Can never break, can never break, in vain. J. WILMOT, EARL OF ROCHESTER. 1068. MY LIGHT THOU ART My light thou art, without thy glorious sight Thou art my way, I wander if thou fly; Thou art my life; if thou but turn away, J. WILMOT, EARL OF ROCHESTER. 1069. UPON HIS DRINKING IN A BOWL. VULCAN, contrive me such a cup As Nestor used of old; Make it so large that, filled with Up to the swelling brim, Engrave not battle on his cheek: With war I've nought to do. I'm none of those that took Maestrich, Nor Yarmouth leaguer knew. Let it no name of planets tell, Nor none of his relations. But carve thereon a spreading vine, Then add two lovely boys; Their limbs in amorous folds entwine, The type of future joys. Cupid and Bacchus my saints are ; May drink and love still reign ! |