76
EASTER-DAY IN A
By rock and cavern, to the wind which fills
Your urn-like depths with sound! The tomb is riven,
The radiant gate of Heaven
Unfolded—and the stern, dark shadow cast
By death's o'ersweeping wing, from the earth's bosom past.
And you, ye graves! upon whose turf I stand,
Girt with the slumber of the hamlet's dead,
Time with a soft and reconciling hand
The covering mantle of bright moss hath spread
O'er every narrow bed:
But not by time, and not by nature sown
Was the celestial seed, whence round you peace hath grown.
Christ hath arisen! oh! not one cherish'd head
Hath, 'midst the flowery sods, been pillowed here
Without a hope, (howe'er the heart hath bled
In its vain yearnings o'er the unconscious bier,)
