Classic Poem

When time's vicissitudes are ended,
Be this, be this my place of rest;
Here let my bones with earth be blended,
Till sounds the trumpet of the blest.
For here, in common home, are mingled
Their dust, whom fame or fortune singled;
And those whom fortune, fame passed by,
All mingled, and all mouldering;—folly
And wisdom, mirth and melancholy,
Slaves, tyrants,—all mixt carelessly.

List! 'T is the voice of time,—Creation's
Unmeasured arch repeats the tone;
Look! E'en like shadows, mighty nations
Are born, flit by us, and are gone!
See! Children of a common father,
See stranger-crowds, like vapours gather;
Sires, sons, descendants, come and go.
Sad history! Yet e'en there the spirit
Some joys may build, some hopes inherit,
And wisdom gather flowers from woe.

There, like a bee-swarm, round the token
Of unveiled truth shall sects appear,
And evil's poisonous sting be broken
In the bright glance of virtue's spear.
And none shall ask, what dormitory
Was this man's doom, what robes of glory
Wore he, what garlands crowned his brow,—
Was pomp his slave?—Come now, discover
The heart, the soul,—Delusion 's over,—
What was his conduct?—Answer now!

Where stands you hill-supported tower,
By Fili, shall I wake again,
Summoned to meet Almighty Power
In judgment, like my fellow-men.
I shall be there, and friends and brothers,
Sisters and children, fathers, mothers,—
With joy that never shall decay;
The soul, substantial blessing beaming
(All here is shadowy and seeming),
Drinks bliss no time can sweep away.

Friends, on my brow that rests when weary
Erect no proud and pompous pile:
Your monuments are vain and dreary,
Their splendour cannot deck the vile.
A green grave, by no glare attended,
With other dust and ashes blended,
Oh, let my dust and ashes lie!
There, as I sleep, Time, never sleeping,
Shall gather ages to his keeping,
For such is nature's destiny.

My wife, my children shall inherit
All I possessed,—'t was mine, 't is theirs;
For death, that steals the living spirit,
Gives all earth's fragments to its heirs.
Send round no circling-briefs of sorrow,
No garments of the raven borrow;
'T is idle charge, 't is costly pride.
Be gay, through rain and frosty weather,
Nor gather idle priests together
To chant my humble grave beside.

Cry, orphans! Cry, ye poor! imploring
The everlasting God, that He
May save me when I sink, adoring,
Amidst His boundless mercy-sea.
My blessing to my foes be given,
Their curses far from me be driven,
Nor break upon my hallowed bliss;
God needs no studied words from mortals,
A sigh may enter Heaven's wide portals,—
He could not err, He taught us this.

No songs, no elegy,—death hearkens
To music ne'er though sweet it be:
When o'er you night's oblivion darkens,
Then let oblivion shadow me.
No verse will soften Hades' sadness,
No verse can break on Eden's gladness,
'T is all parade and shifting glare:—
A stream, where scattered trees are growing,
A secret tear, in silence flowing,
No monument as these so fair.

Such slumber here, their memory flashes
Across my thoughts.—Hail, sister, hail!
I kiss thy sacred bed of ashes,
And soon shall-share-thy mournful tale.
Thou hast paid thy earthly debts,—'t is ended,
Thy cradle and thy tomb are blended,
The circle of thy being run;
And now in peace thy history closes,
And thy stilled, crumbling frame reposes
Where life's short, feverish play is done.

I live and toil,—my thoughts still follow
The idle world:—my care pursue
Dreams and delusions, baseless, hollow,
And vanities still false, though new.
Then fly I earthly joys, I find them
Leave terror-working stings behind them:
“Beware, beware!” experience cries;
Yet ah! how faint the voice of duty,
One smile of yonder flattering beauty
Would make me waste even centuries.