And trench the strong hard mould with the spade, And gave the virgin fields to the day; And the gourd and the bean, beside his door, 'Tis said that when life is ended here, The spirit is borne to a distant sphere; That it visits its earthly home no more, Nor looks on the haunts it loved before. But why should the bodiless soul be sent Far off, to a long, long banishment? Talk not of the light and the living green! It will pine for the dear familiar scene; It will yearn, in that strange bright world, to behold The rock and the stream it knew of old. 'Tis a cruel creed, believe it not! Death to the good is a milder lot. They are here, they are here,—that harmless pair, In the yellow sunshine and flowing air, In the light cloud-shadows that slowly pass, In the sounds that rise from the murmuring grass. They sit where their humble cottage stood, Of the brook that wets the rocks below. They watch, and wait, and linger around, Till the day when their bodies shall leave the ground. THE CONJUNCTION OF JUPITER AND VENUS. I WOULD not always reason. The straight path Wearies us with its never-varying lines, And we grow melancholy. I would make The mazes of the pleasant wilderness Around me. She should be my counsellor, But not my tyrant. For the spirit needs Amid the evening glory, to confer Of men and their affairs, and to shed down This mighty city, smooths his front, and far Of the dark heights that bound him to the west; Rises like a thanksgiving. Put we hence Dark and sad thoughts awhile-there's time for them With melancholy looks, to tell our griefs, To cheerful hopes and dreams of happy days, Enough of drought has parched the year, and scared And wholesome cold of winter; he that fears Emblems of power and beauty! well may they Shine brightest on our borders, and withdraw Towards the great Pacific, marking out The path of empire. Thus, in our own land, Light the nuptial torch, And say the glad, yet solemn rite, that knits Late to their graves. Men shall wear softer hearts, As now at other murders. Hapless Greece! Enough of blood has wet thy rocks, and stained Thy rivers; deep enough thy chains have worn Their links into thy flesh; the sacrifice Of thy pure maidens, and thy innocent babes, And reverend priests, has expiated all |