The south wind searches for the flowers whose fragrance late he bore, And sighs to find them in the wood and by the stream no more. And then I think of one who in her youthful beauty died, The fair meek blossom that grew up and faded by my side: In the cold moist earth we laid her when the forest cast the leaf, And we wept that one so lovely should have a life so brief; Yet not unmeet it was, that one, like that young friend of ours, So gentle and so beautiful, should perish with the flowers. ΕΡΙΤΑΡΗ. Here in a little cave, The prettiest nook of this most grassy vale, All amid lilies pale, That turn Their heads into my little vault and mourn, Stranger, I've made my grave. I am not all forgot, A small hoarse stream murmurs close by my pillow, And o'er me a green willow Doth weep, Still questioning the air, "Why doth she sleep, The girl, in this cold spot?" Even the very winds Come to my cave and sigh: they often bring To strew Over my earth, and leaves of violet blue; Fresh is my mossy bed : The frequent pity of the rock falls here, A sweet, cold, silent tear : I've heard, Sometimes, a wild and melancholy bird Read this small tablet o'er That holds mine epitaph upon its cheek of pearl : "Here lies a simple girl, Who died Like a pale flower nipt in its sweet spring tide DIRGE FOR RACHEL. AND Rachel lies in Ephrath's land, The Spring comes smiling down the vale, The lilies and the roses bringing, But Rachel never more shall hail The flowers that in the world are springing. The Summer gives his radiant day, The Autumn's ripening sunbeam shines, The Winter sends his drenching shower, HYMN. WHEN Israel, of the Lord beloved, But, present still, though now unseen! Our harps we left by Babel's streams, FUNERAL HYMN. YE midnight shades, o'er nature spread! Through all this deep surrounding gloom, The sober thought, The tear untaught, Those meetest mourners at a tomb. Lo! as the surpliced train drew near Strikes mute instruction to the heart! Now let the sacred organ blow, With solemn pause, and sounding slow; Till all the vocal current blended roll, Who first inform'd our frame with breath, And, after some few stormy days, Now, gracious, gives us o'er to death. In him appears Who shuts the scene of human woes; Beneath his shade Securely laid, The dead alone find true repose. |