Of autumn, scattered by the whirlwind’s breath,
Are borne away where dim Oblivion weaves
Her shroud, within the rayless halls of death;
Still with a prophet gaze I’ll thread my way,
And wake the giant spectres of the tomb;
With fancy’s wand I’ll chase the phantoms gray,
And burst the shadowy seal that shrouds their doom.
Thus shall the past its misty lore unfold,
And bid my soul on nature’s ladder rise,
Till I shall meet some clasping hand, whose hold
Shall draw my homesick spirit to the skies.
the thread of sympathy that tied
My heart to man is sundered, and I go
To hold communion with the shades that glide,
Wherever forests wave, or waters flow.
And when my fluttering heart shall faint and fail,
These limbs shall totter to some hollow cave,
Where the poor Dreamer’s dream shall cease. The gale
Shall gather music from the wood and wave,
And pour it in my dying ear; the wing
Of busy zephyrs to the flowers shall go,
And from them all their sweetest odors bring,
To soothe, perchance, their fainting lover’s woe.
My sinking soul shall catch the dreamy sound
Of far-off waters, murmuring to their doom,
And eddying winds, from distant mountains bound,
Shall come to sing a requiem round my tomb.
The breeze shall o’er me weave a leafy shroud,
And I shall slumber in the shadowy dell—
Till God shall rend the spirit’s darkling cloud,
And give it wings of light. Stranger, Farewell!”
Good and Evil.
[Illustration: The Expulsion from Eden]
When man from Paradise was
And thorns around his pathway sprung,
Sweet Mercy wandering there from heaven
Upon those thorns bright roses flung.
Aye, and as Justice cursed
She stole behind, unheard, unseen—
And while the curses fell around,
She scattered seeds of joy between.
And thus, as evils sprung
And spread, like weeds, their poisons wide,
Fresh healing plants came blooming bright,
And stood, to check them, side by side.
And now, though Eden blooms
And man is exiled from its bowers,
Still mercy steals through bolt and bar,
And brings away its choicest flowers.
The very toil, the thorns
That Heaven in wrath for sin imposes,
By mercy changed, no curses are—
One brings us rest, the other roses.
Thus joy is linked with every
Each cup of ill its pleasure brings;
The rose is crushed, but then, you know,
The sweeter fragrance from it springs.