THE OLD MAN'S FUNERAL. YE sigh not when the sun, his course fulfilled, His glorious course, rejoicing earth and sky, In the soft evening, when the winds are stilled, Sinks where his islands of refreshment lie, And leaves the smile of his departure spread O'er the warm-colored heaven and ruddy mountain head. Why weep ye then for him, who, having won The bound of man's appointed years, at last, Life's blessings all enjoyed, life's labors done, Serenely to his final rest has passed; While the soft memory of his virtues yet Lingers like twilight hues, when the bright sun is set? BRYANT. DEATH'S FINAL CONQUEST. THE garlands wither on your brow, Then boast no more your mighty deeds; Upon death's purple altar now, To the cold tomb; JAMES SHIRLEY. STANZAS WRITTEN IN THE CHURCHYARD OF RICH MOND, YORKSHIRE. "It is good for us to be here: if thou wilt, let us make here three tabernacles, one for thee, one for Moses, and one for Elias."-ST. MATTHEW. METHINKS it is good to be here, If thou wilt let us build, but for whom? Nor Elias nor Moses appear; Some village-Hampden, that, with dauntless breast, The little tyrant of his fields withstood, Some mute inglorious Milton here may rest, Some Cromwell guiltless of his country's blood. The applause of listening senates to command, The threats of pain and ruin to despise, To scatter plenty o'er a smiling land, And read their history in a nation's eyes, Their lot forbade: nor circumscribed alone Their growing virtues, but their crimes confined; Forbade to wade through slaughter to a throne, And shut the gates of mercy on mankind, |