Wie herrlich die Sonne dort untergeht! da ich noch ein Bube warwar's mein Lieblingsgedanke, wie sie zu leben, wie sie zu sterben! Die Rauber.
Like thee to die, thou sun!—My boyhood's dream
Was this; and now my spirit, with thy beam,
Ebbs from a field of victory!-yet the hour
Bears back upon me, with a torrent's power,
Nature's deep longings:-Oh! for some kind eye,
Wherein to meet love's fervent farewell gaze;
Some breast to pillow life's last agony,
Some voice, to speak of hope and brighter days,
Beyond the pass of shadows!-But I go,
I, that have been so loved, go hence alone;
And ye, now gathering round my own hearth's glow,
Sweet friends! it may be that a softer tone,
Even in this moment, with your laughing glee,
Mingles its cadence while you speak of me:
Of me, your soldier, 'midst the mountains lying,
On the red banner of his battles dying,
Far, far away!—and oh! your parting prayer —
Will not his name be fondly murmur'd there?
It will! A blessing on that holy hearth!
Though clouds are darkening to o'ercast its mirth.
Mother! I may not hear thy voice again;
Sisters! ye watch to greet my step in vain;
Young brother, fare thee well!-on each dear head
Blessing and love a thousandfold be shed,
My soul's last earthly breathings! - May your home
Smile for you ever!- May no winter come,
No world, between your hearts!-May even your tears,
For my sake, full of long-remember'd years,
Quicken the true affections that entwine
Your lives in one bright bond!-I may not sleep
Amidst our fathers, where those tears might shine
Over my slumbers: yet your love will keep
My memory living in the ancestral halls,
Where shame hath never trod :—the dark night falls,
And I depart.-The brave are gone to rest,
The brothers of my combats, on the breast
Of the red field they reap'd:-their work is done-
Thou, too, art set!-farewell, farewell, thou sun!
The last lone watcher of the bloody sod,
Offers a trusting spirit up to God.
That they whom death has hidden from our sight,
Are worthiest of the mind's regard; with them
The future cannot contradict the past-
Mortality's last exercise and proof
The love where death has set his seal,
Nor age can chill, nor rival steal,
Nor falsehood disavow.
I CALL thee blest!-though now the voice be fled,
Which, to thy soul, brought day-spring with its tone,
And o'er the gentle eyes though dust be spread,
Eyes that ne'er look'd on thine but light was thrown
Far through thy breast:
And though the music of thy life be broken,
Or changed in every chord, since he is gone,
Feeling all this, even yet, by many a token,
O thou, the deeply, but the brightly lone!
I call thee blest!
For in thy heart there is a holy spot,
As 'mid the waste an Isle of fount and palm,
For ever green!-the world's breath enters not,
The passion-tempests may not break its calm;
Thither, in trust unbaffled, may'st thou turn,
From bitter words, cold greetings, heartless eyes,
Quenching thy soul's thirst at the hidden urn,
That, fill'd with waters of sweet memory, lies
In its own shrine.
Thou hast thy home!-there is no power in change
To reach that temple of the past;-no sway,
In all time brings of sudden, dark, or strange,
To sweep the still transparent peace away
From its hush'd air!
And oh that glorious image of the dead!
Sole thing whereon a deathless love may rest,
And in deep faith and dreamy worship shed
Its high gifts fearlessly!—I call thee blest,
If only there!
Blest, for the beautiful within thee dwelling,
Never to fade!-a refuge from distrust,
A spring of purer life, still freshly welling,
To clothe the barrenness of earthly dust
With flowers divine.
And thou hast been beloved!-it is no dream,
No false mirage for thee, the fervent love,
The rainbow still unreach'd, the ideal gleam,
That ever seems before, beyond, above,
Far off to shine.
But thou, from all the daughters of the earth
Singled and mark'd, hast known its home and place;
And the high memory of its holy worth,
To this our life a glory and a grace
For thee hath given.
And art thou not still fondly, truly loved?
Thou art the love his spirit bore away,
Was not for death!—a treasure but removed,
A bright bird parted for a clearer day,—
Thine still in Heaven!
WOMAN ON THE FIELD OF BATTLE.
Where hath not woman stood,
Strong in affection's might? a reed upborne
By an o'ermastering current!
GENTLE and lovely form,
What didst thou here,
When the fierce battle-storm
Bore down the spear?
Banner and shiver'd crest,
Beside thee strown,
Tell, that amidst the best,
Thy work was done!
Yet strangely, sadly fair,
O'er the wild scene,
Gleams, through its golden hair,
That brow serene.
Low lies the stately head,-
Earth-bound the free;
How gave those haughty dead
A place to thee?
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