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Nor when their mellow fruit the orchards cast,
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-coloured heaven and ruddy mountain
Why weep ye then for him, who, having run
The bound of man's appointed years, at last, Life's blessings all enjoyed, life's labours done,
Serenely to his final rest has past; While the soft memory of his virtues, yet Lingers like twilight hues, when the bright sun is set.
His youth was innocent; his riper age,
Marked with some act of goodness, every day; And watched by eyes that loved him, calm, and sage,
Faded his late declining years away. Cheerful he gave his being up, and went To share the holy rest that waits a life well spent..
That life was happy ; every day he gave
Thanks for the fair existence that was his ; For a sick fancy made him not her slave,
To mock him with her phantom miseries.
No chronic tortures racked his aged limb,
And I am glad, that he has lived thus long,
And glad, that he has gone to his reward ; Nor deem, that kindly nature did him wrong,
Softly to disengage the vital cord. When his weak hand grew palsied, and his eye Dark with the mists of age, it was his time to die.
DIRGE OVER A NAMELESS GRAVE.
By yon still river, where the wave
Is winding slow at evening's close, The beech, upon a nameless grave,
Its sadly-moving shadow throws.
O'er the fair woods the sun looks down
Upon the many twinkling leaves,
Where darkly the green turf upheaves.
The river glides in silence there,
And hardly waves the sapling tree : Sweet flowers are springing, and the air
Is full of balm,—but where is she !
They bade her wed a son of pride,
And leave the hopes she cherished long :
She loved but one,—and would not hide
A love which knew no wrong.
And months went sadly on,-and years :
And she was wasting day by day : At length she died,—and many tears
Were shed that she should pass away.
Then came a gray old man, and knelt
With bitter weeping by her tomb :And others mourned for him, who felt
That he had sealed a daughter's doom.
The funeral train has long past on,
And time wiped dry a father's tear! Farewell,—lost maiden !—there is one
That mourns thee yet,—and he is here.
A LAST WISH.
When breath and sense have left this clay,
The wild flowers too, I loved so well,
She felt that nature's face was fair.”
AN INDIAN AT THE BURYING-PLACE OF HIS FATHERS.
It is the spot I came to seek,
My fathers' ancient burial-place,
Withdrew our wasted race.
For here the upland bank sends out
A ridge toward the river side ;
The meadow smooth and wide;
A white man, gazing on the scene,
Would say a lovely spot was here,
Between the hills so sheer.
The sheep are on the slopes around,
The cattle in the meadows feed,
Or drop the yellow seed,