Fare-thee-well, fare-thee-well, O Belov'd of the soul! Our yearnings shall hallow the loss we deplore; Slumber soft in the Grave till we win to thy goalSlumber soft, slumber soft, till we see thee once more! Till the Trumpet that heralds God's coming in thunder, Shall peal o'er the grave-mounds that circle thy bed, Till the portals of Death shall be riven asunder, And the storm-wind of God whirl the dust of the Dead; Till the breath of Jehovah shall pass o'er the Tombs, Till their seeds spring to bloom at the life of the Breath; Till the pomp of the Stars into vapor consumes, And the spoils he hath captured are ravished from Death. If not in the worlds dreamed by sages, nor given Still, Brother, we know we shall meet thee again! Is there truth in the hopes which the pilgrim beguile? Does the thought still exist when Life's journey is o'er? Does Virtue conduct o'er the dreary defile? Is the faith we have cherished a dream and no more? Already the riddle is bared to thy sight, Already thy soul quaffs the Truth it has won, The Truth that streams forth in its waters of light From the chalice the Father vouchsafes to the Son! Draw near, then, O silent and dark-gliding Train, Let the feast for the Mighty Destroyer be spread; Cease the groans which so loudly, so idly complain, Heap the mold o'er the mold-heap the dust o'er the Dead! God's secret decrees, who can solve or impart? O God of the Grave, whom our shudders adore! Earth to Earth may return, the material to matter. But high from the cell soars the Spirit above, Its ashes the wind of the tempest may scatterFor ever and ever endureth its love. 1 Of this poem, as of Gray's divine and unequaled Elegy, it may be truly said that it abounds in thoughts so natural, that the reader at first believes they have been often expressed before, but his memory will not enable him to trace a previous owner. The whole poem has the rare beauty of being at once familiar and original. 32* Through the green plain they marching came! Is that table dread, For the wild grim dice of the iron game. As the Major spurs fast by the ranks to the van. And fettered they stand at the stark command. Proud in the blush of morning glowing, What on the hill-top shines in flowing? "See you the Foeman's banners waving?" "We see the Foeman's banners waving!" "God be with ye-children and wife !" Hark to the music-the drum and the fife, How they ring through the ranks which they rouse to the strife! Thrilling they sound with their glorious tone, Thrilling they go through the marrow and bone! Brothers, God grant when this life be o'er, In the life to come that we meet once more! See the smoke how the lightning is cleaving asunder! Hark the guns, peal on peal, how they boom in their thunder! Quivers the eyelid, as round and round, From rank to rank, flies the signal sound; Shout it forth-shout it forth-to the life or the death! Freer already breathes the breath! Death has broke loose, and the strife is begun, More fast through the smoke comes the flash of the gun; More fast through the vapor, that hangs like a pall, Do the iron dice fall. 66 Nearer they close-foes upon foes. Ready!"-from square to square it goes, And the fire comes sharp from the foremost rank. Many a gap by the balls is rent— O'er the corpse before springs the hinder-man, The dead men lie bathed in the weltering blood, Stumble still on the corpses that sleep below. 66 well." "Give Charlotte my last fare As the dying man murmurs, the thunders swell "I'll give -O God! are their guns so near? Ho! comrades!-yon volley!-look sharp to the rear! I'll give thy Charlotte thy last farewell, Sleep soft! where Death thickest descendeth in rain, The friend thou forsakest thy side shall regain !" And broods o'er the battle yet darker the night. Hark to the hoofs that galloping go! The horsemen press hard on the panting foe, Victory! The terror has seized on the dastards all, And their colors fall! Victory! Closed is the bitter but glorious fight: And the day, like a conqueror, bursts on the night. |