Farewell, thou little Nook of mountain-ground,
Thou rocky corner in the lowest stair
Of that magnificent temple which doth bound
One side of our whole vale with grandeur rare;
Sweet garden-orchard, eminently fair,
The loveliest spot that man hath ever found,
Farewell!--we leave thee to Heaven's peaceful care,
Thee, and the Cottage which thou dost surround.

Our boat is safely anchored by the shore,
And there will safely ride when we are gone;
The flowering shrubs that deck our humble door
Will prosper, though untended and alone:

Great Spirit whom the sea of boundless thought
Nurtures within its unimagined caves,
In which thou sittest sole, as in my mind,
Giving a voice to its mysterious waves--

As in a swoon, one instant,
Another sun, ineffable, full-dazzles me,
And all the orbs I knew—and brighter, unknown orbs;
One instant of the future land, Heaven's land.

And that I walk thus proudly crowned withal
Is that 'tis my distinction; if I fall,
I shall not weep out of the vital day,
To-morrow dust, nor wear a dull decay.

Could I the priest's consent have gained
Or his who tolled thy passing bell,
Then, Matthew, had thy bones remained
Beneath this tree we loved so well.

Yet in our thorn will I suspend
Thy gift this twisted oaken staff,
And here where trunk and branches blend
Will I engrave thy epitaph.

Just as the blowing thorn began
To spread again its vernal shade,
This village lost as good a man
As ever handled book or spade.

Then Traveller passing o'er the green,
Thy course a single moment stay,

After a long, long course, hundreds of years, denials,
Accumulations, rous'd love and joy and thought,
Hopes, wishes, aspirations, ponderings, victories, myriads of readers,
Coating, compassing, covering—after ages' and ages' encrustations,
Then only may these songs reach fruition.

How richly glows the water's breast
Before us, tinged with evening hues,
While, facing thus the crimson west,
The boat her silent course pursues!
And see how dark the backward stream!
A little moment past so smiling!
And still, perhaps, with faithless gleam,
Some other loiterers beguiling.

Such views the youthful Bard allure;
But, heedless of the following gloom,
He deems their colours shall endure
Till peace go with him to the tomb.
--And let him nurse his fond deceit,
And what if he must die in sorrow!

O pillow cold and wet with tears!
Thou breathest sleep no more!

Great are the myths—I too delight in them,
Great are Adam and Eve—I too look back and accept them,
Great the risen and fallen nations, and their poets, women, sages, inventors, rulers, warriors, and priests.

Great is Liberty! great is Equality! I am their follower,
Helmsmen of nations, choose your craft! where you sail, I sail,
Yours is the muscle of life or death—yours is the perfect science—in you I have absolute faith.

Great is To-day, and beautiful,
It is good to live in this age—there never was any better.

Her prime of life—cut down too soon
By death—as th'morning flower at noon:
Her loving husband lives t'deplore:
Yet hopes she'll flourish evermore.
Jane Green.
Wife of Jonathan Green, of this Parish, Baker.
20th 1848.
Aged 52 years.