Poems Sigourney 1834/On the Death of Miss Hannah Adams
ON THE DEATH OF MISS HANNAH ADAMS.
She was the author of a "View of Religious Opinions," "History of the Jews," and other works. She died, respected and beloved, at the age of seventy-six; and was the first who was buried in the Mount Auburn Cemetery, in Boston.
Gentle and true of heart! I see thee still,
Abstractly bending o'er the storied tome,
While the deep lines of meditation steal,
Unfrowning, o'er thy brow. I see thee still,
Thine eye upraised at friendship's sacred smile,
Pouring the heart's warm treasures freely forth,
In guileless confidence. Methinks I hear
That eloquence, which sometimes bore thy soul
High o'er its prison-house of timid thought,
And round the ancient people of thy God,
And on the hill of Zion, joyed to bind
Its choicest wreath. Thy stainless life was laid
A gift on virtue's altar, and thy mind,
Commingling wisdom with humility,
Passed on its sheltered pilgrimage in peace,
Lonely—but not forgot. When thou didst mourn
One generation of thy friends laid low,
Another came. Most fair and youthful forms,
Such as man's love doth worship, in the hour
Of its idolatry, did turn aside
To seat them at thy feet, and strew thy home
With offerings of fresh flowers. 'Twas sweet to see
Beauty, and grace, and wealth, such tribute pay
At wisdom's lowly shrine. Yes, they who moved
On the high places of the earth, came down
To do thee honour, and to comfort thee
With an untiring ardour. Say no more
That humble merit, fashionless and poor,
Hath none to lift it from its upas-shade,
And guard its welfare with unswerving zeal
Through the long vale of helplessness and age.
It is not so. Thy grateful shade responds—
It is not so.
Farewell. Thy rest shall be
In such companionship as thou hast loved,
Even from thy being's dawn; pure-breathing plants,
Soft melodies of waters and of trees,
The brightest, holiest charms of earth and sky;
Nor yet unchronicled, or unbeloved
Of faithful memory, shall be thy sleep,
Meek worshipper of nature and of God.