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—Be thou at peace in thy brighter lot,
For thy cabin-home is a lonely spot.”

“Are they gone, all gone from the sunny hillf
—But the bird and the blue-fly rove o'er it still,
And the red-deer bound in their gladness free,
And the turf is bent by the singing bee,
And the waters leap, and the fresh winds blow—
Lady, kind lady! oh! let me go.”


“Thou shalt lie down With patriarchs of the infant world—with kings, The powerful of the earth—the wise, the good, Fair forms, and hoary seers of ages past,

All in one mighty sepulchre.”


AND shrink ye from the way
To the spirit's distant shore :
Earth's mightiest men, in arm'd array,
Are thither gone before.

The warrior kings, whose banner Flew far as eagles fly, They are gone where swords avail them not.

From the feast of victory.

And the seers, who sat of yore
By orient palm or wave,
They have pass'd with all their starry lore—

Can ye still fear the grave?

—We fear, we fear !—the sunshine
Is joyous to behold,
And we reck not of the buried kings,
Or the awful seers of old.

Ye shrink —the bards whose lays Have made your deep hearts burn, They have left the sun, and the voice of praise, For the land whence none return:

And the lovely, whose memorial
Is the verse that cannot die,
They too are gone with their glorious bloom,

From the gaze of human eye.

Would ye not join that throng

Of the earth's departed flowers,

And the masters of the mighty song

In their far and fadeless bowers

Those songs are high and holy,
But they vanquish not our fear;
Not from our path those flowers are gone—

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Linger then yet awhile,
As the last leaves on the bough !
—Ye have lov'd the gleam of many a smile

That is taken from you now.

There have been sweet singing voices
In your walks that now are still ;
There are seats left void in your earthly homes,

Which none again may fill.

Soft eyes are seen no more
That made spring-time in your heart;

Kindred and friends are gone before,
And ye still fear to part?

—We fear not now, we fear not!
Though the way through darkness bends;
Our souls are strong to follow them,
Our own familiar friends !


“As when to them who sail Beyond the Cape of Hope, and now are past Mozambic, off at sea north-east winds blow Sabean odours from the spicy shore Of Araby the Blest; with such delay Well pleas'd they slack their course, and many a league, Cheer'd with the grateful smell, old Ocean smiles.”

Paradise Lost.

Joy is upon the lonely seas,
When Indian forests pour
Forth to the billow and the breeze
Their fragrance from the shore;
Joy, when the soft air's glowing sigh
Bears on the breath of Araby.

Oh! welcome are the winds that tell

A wanderer of the deep

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