RETROSPECTION. 393
Does any one ask why the dead, for whom we mourn, are thus numbered among " Pleasant Memo ries ? " Why should they not be ? Bequeathing to us the melodies of genius, should they not hence forth be among us as a cherished harp ? Having enrrched earth with benefactions, should not their goodness remain as a perpetual presence?
Yes. We would speak of them for our own com fort, and as an honor to our common nature, until we reach that better land, where the tree of life never casts its leaf, and there is no pause in the realm of
��Change sweeps o er all. The ancient columns quiver ;
Through the rent chasm the exulting whirlpool flows ; The rifted rocks, man s mimic thunders shiver,
And o er the desert steals the wondering rose.
The buried seed to perfect blossom springeth ;
From its damp bed the lily of the lake ; The acorn o er the land broad shadow flingeth,
And song and wing the solemn groves awake.
Where erst the pannier d mule went slowly creeping, The plodding wheel its tardy message bore,
The flame-fed steeds o er hill and dirte are sweeping, And thought electric darts from shore to shore.
His last, sweet lay, the wan musician drinketh ; The pencil fades, the artist s eye grows dim ;
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