WHEN WE GIVE UP THE DEAD. AROUND the couch may hover Death, And steal away the parting breath; The sheet and shroud in pallid fold Their forms are in the coffin laid, And earth's last sacred rite is paid; And taste grief's bitterest cup. But when the grave we gather round, And o'er its dark edge eager bend, And hear the rumbling earth descend,— Ah! then it is we give them up, And taste grief's bitterest cup. THE RUIN. HERE once were gathered round thy hearth The bright, the young, the gay, The joyous heart of buoyant mirth, The head of silvery gray, And woman's smile, and man's caress, And childhood's laughing glee, The maiden in her bridal dress, And brightly through the festal hall And Music stirred the hearts of all, The sparkling goblet flowed; And as was sipped the brimming cup, And glared the inebriate eye, Loud on the midnight air went up The wild festivity. Here, too, the widow mourned her lord, The orphan pined his lot, And Death broke many a silken chord, And Beauty smiled for naught; And swept the busy round of life Like April shadows by, The fierce conflicting scenes of strife, And here moved on the gorgeous train The fierce blood dancing in each vein, With plume of gaudy dye, The war-horse dashing at full speed, And far o'er hill, and moat, and vale, And deep-toned drum, and clashing mail, And martial clarion; And fearful flashed the sabre's gleam, And boomed the cannon's breath, And bubbled warm life's crimson stream Along the field of death. A SONNET. 'Tis past the noon of night! and I am lone, And I have held sad converse with the dear, And drenched with burning floods my pallid cheeks— Oh! wilt thou ne'er return-bright Poesy! And from her dismal thrall my spirit free? THE GENERAL ON HIS BIER. He sleeps upon his sable bier How calm and still! No battle-cries his pulses stir No war-notes shrill. Was flushed with life, And from those eyes fierce flashed the glow Each vein thrilled with the dancing blood Of courage strong, Whose faintest signs with fire imbued His soldier throng. That stout arm swung the sabre keen That dauntless heart to armies then Disdained to yield. |