Oh! happy, if to them the one dread hour
Had given its lessons from a brow like thine!
If all their knowledge of the spoiler's power
Came by a look, thus tranquilly divine!
—Let him, who thus hath seen young life depart,
Hold well that image to his thoughtful heart!
But thou, fair slumberer! was there less of woe,
Or love, or terror, in the days of old,
That men pour'd out their gladdening spirit's flow,
Like sunshine, on the desolate and cold?
And gave thy semblance to the shadowy king,
Who for deep souls had then a deeper sting?
In the dark bosom of the earth they laid
Far more than we—for loftier hopes are ours:
Their gems were lost in ashes; yet they made
The grave a place of beauty and of flowers,
With purple wreaths and fragrant boughs array'd,
And lovely sculpture gleaming through the shade.
Is it for us a deeper gloom to shed
O'er its dim precincts?—Do we not intrust
But for a time, its chambers with our Dead,
And strew immortal seed upon the dust?
—Why should we dwell on that which lies beneath,
When living light hath touch'd the brow of Death?
F. H.
