Or like the bird that ’s here to-day,
Or like the pearlèd dew of May,
Or like an hour, or like a span,
Or like the singing of a swan,
E'en such is man; — who lives by breath,
Is here, now there, in life and death.
The grass decays, the tale is ended,
The bird is flown, the dew 's ascended,
The hour is short, the span not long,
The swan 's near death, - man's life is done!
Like to the bubble in the brook,
Or in a glass much like a look,
Or like the shuttle in the hand,
Or like the writing in the sand,
Or like a thought, or like a dream,
Or like the gliding of the stream,
E'en such is man ; — who lives by breath,
Is here, now there, in life and death.
The bubble 's burst, the look 's forgot,
The shuttle 's flung, the writing 's blot,
The thought is past, the dream is gone,
The water glides, - man's life is done!
SENSIBILITY, how charming,
Thou, my friend, canst truly tell; But distress, with horrors arming,
Thou hast also known tớo well.
Fairest flower! behold the lily
Blooming in the sunny ray ;
Let the blast sweep o'er the valley,
See it prostrate on the clay.
Hear the wood-lark charm the forest,
Telling o'er his little joys ; Hapless bird ! a prey the surest
To each pirate of the skies.
Dearly bought the hidden treasure
Finer feelings can bestow ;
Chords that vibrate sweetest pleasure
Thrill the deepest notes of woe.
Fair pledges of a fruitful tree,
Why do ye fall so fast ?
Your date is not so past,
But you may stay yet here awhile
To blush and gently smile,
Then go at last.
What, were ye born to be
An hour or half's delight,
And so to bid good night? 'T was pity Nature brought ye forth Merely to show your worth,
And lose you quite.
But you are lovely leaves, where we
May read how soon things have
Their end, though ne'er so brave ;
And after they have shown their pride,
Like you, awhile, they glide
Into the grave.
THERE are gold-bright suns in worlds above, And blazing gems in worlds below, Our world has Love and only Love, For living warmth and jewel glow; God's Love is sunlight to the good, And Woman's pure as diamond sheen, And Friendship's mystic brotherhood In twilight beauty lies between.
BURIAL OF THE MINNISINK. - Longfellow.
On sunny slope and beechen swell,
The shadowed light of evening fell;
And, where the maple's leaf was brown,
With soft and silent lapse came down
The glory that the wood receives,
At sunset, in its brazen leaves.
Far upward in the mellow light
Rose the blue hills. One cloud of white,
Around a far-uplifted cone,
In the warm blush of evening shone ;
An image of the silver lakes
By which the Indian's soul awakes.
But soon a funeral hymn was heard
Where the soft breath of evening stirred
The tall, gray forest; and a band
Of stern in heart, and strong in hand,
Came winding down beside the wave,
To lay the red chief in his grave.
They sang, that by his native bowers
He stood, in the last moon of flowers,
And thirty snows had not yet shed
Their glory on the warrior's head ;
But, as the summer fruit decays,
So died he in those naked days.
A dark cloak of the roebuck's skin
Covered the warrior, and within
Its heavy folds the weapons, made
For the hard toils of war, were laid;
The cuirass, woven of plaited reeds,
And the broad belt of shells and beads.
Before, a dark-haired virgin train
Chanted the death-dirge of the slain ;
Behind, the long procession came
Of hoary men and chiefs of fame,
With heavy hearts, and eyes of grief,
Leading the war-horse of their chief.
Stripped of his proud and martial dress,
Uncurbed, unreined, and riderless,
With darting eye, and nostril spread,
And heavy and impatient tread,
He came ; and oft that eye so proud
Asked for his rider in the crowd.
They buried the dark chief ; they freed
Beside the grave his battle steed;
And swift an arrow cleaved its way
To his stern heart! One piercing neigh
Arose, — and, on the dead man's plain,
The rider grasps his steed again.
Is heaven a place where pearly streams
Glide over silver sand ? Like childhood's rosy, dazzling dreams
Of some far fairy land ?
Is heaven a clime where diamond dews
Glitter on fadeless flowers, And mirth and music ring aloud
From amaranthine bowers ?
Ah no; not such, not such is heaven!
Surpassing far all these ;
Such cannot be the guerdon given
Man's wearied soul to please.
For saints and sinners here below,
Such vain to be have proved; And the pure spirit will despise
Whate'er the sense has loved.
There shall we dwell with Sire and Son,
And with the Mother-maid, And with the Holy Spirit, one,
In glory like arrayed;
And not to one created thing
Shall one embrace be given ; But all our joy shall be in God,
For only God is heaven.
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