LOVE AND DEATH.
[Arranged from fragments of MS. found in the portmanteau of a young traveller who died suddenly at a wayside inn in Idaho, in the year 1850.]
When toward me bends the shade of death,And friends deplore my waning breath,Let woman, flushed with vernal charms,Support me in her tender arms,And kindly let her bosom swellFor one who loved her sex too well.And when the solemn change has come,Should sorrow hold my angel dumb,And dim her eyes with humid veil,And fix them on my features pale,My spirit, raised on wing to go,Will hover o’er her breast of snow,And on her saddened lips impressThe seal of love’s farewell caress,Then, if a tear-drop chance to rollAdown her cheek, my flying soulWill snatch the gem,—for earth too bright,—And bear it to the realms of light;Nor there the sparkling pledge resign,But hoard it as a thing divine,And smile to see its feeble rayBlend with thy beams, Eternity!And now, dear woman, gently pressThose lids that claim thy tenderness,And hide those faded orbs of blueThat oft in rapture rolled on you,And through the silent hours of nightCradled your image in their light.Now let thy loving fingers closeThose lips above their ivory rows,And think, while you the task fulfil,How oft thine own have made them thrill,How oft, with youthful passion warm,Their kisses told my heart’s alarm,Enough; retire, forever blest;Let meaner hands perform the rest.Next, let nor clown nor knave presumeTo bear my relics to the tomb;Let bards and sages, men of mind,Convey it thence with bosoms kind,And think, along the solemn way,“We bear a brother’s weight to-day.”Let no grim priest of narrow viewMy spirit’s mystic flight pursue,And o’er my corse his terrors soundTo awe his trembling dupes around,And stupidly profane the endOf slandered Truth’s devoted friend.Now place me in my rayless bed,And carve these lines above my head:“This simple mound conceals from sight,A brother of poetic light.His heart was Love’s volcanic throne,Love, the sole king he e’er would own.All men, of every hue of skin,He reckoned as his nearest kin;He looked where’er oppression trod,And felt the inward flash of God,And prayed with an immortal hopeFor Freedom’s universal scope.Titles and power by outrage won,And handed down from sire to son,He ever held in utter scorn,And honoured most the lowly born.His follies, oh! the vast amount—Forgive them ere you stop to count,And let oblivion’s velvet pall,In charity conceal them all.“Inquirest thou the poet’s creed?’Twas brief, but served his utmost need:Truth is divine, wherever found,On Christian or on pagan ground;Engraven on the hearts of menAre God’s commandments, more than ten;The universe his laws proclaim,To learn them be my constant aim;Goodness and mercy, holy theseIn Jesus or in Socrates;The glory of an earthly spanIs service to our fellow man.’Twas thus with chastened heart he thought,Nor cared what theologians taught;And if he erred to an excessIn not believing more, or less,Ye who accuse, depart in fear,And spare his bones your censure here.If your own merits far excelThe poet’s troubled life, ’tis well.If in a truer light you live,Go! learn to pity and forgive.”
When toward me bends the shade of death,And friends deplore my waning breath,Let woman, flushed with vernal charms,Support me in her tender arms,And kindly let her bosom swellFor one who loved her sex too well.And when the solemn change has come,Should sorrow hold my angel dumb,And dim her eyes with humid veil,And fix them on my features pale,My spirit, raised on wing to go,Will hover o’er her breast of snow,And on her saddened lips impressThe seal of love’s farewell caress,Then, if a tear-drop chance to rollAdown her cheek, my flying soulWill snatch the gem,—for earth too bright,—And bear it to the realms of light;Nor there the sparkling pledge resign,But hoard it as a thing divine,And smile to see its feeble rayBlend with thy beams, Eternity!And now, dear woman, gently pressThose lids that claim thy tenderness,And hide those faded orbs of blueThat oft in rapture rolled on you,And through the silent hours of nightCradled your image in their light.Now let thy loving fingers closeThose lips above their ivory rows,And think, while you the task fulfil,How oft thine own have made them thrill,How oft, with youthful passion warm,Their kisses told my heart’s alarm,Enough; retire, forever blest;Let meaner hands perform the rest.Next, let nor clown nor knave presumeTo bear my relics to the tomb;Let bards and sages, men of mind,Convey it thence with bosoms kind,And think, along the solemn way,“We bear a brother’s weight to-day.”Let no grim priest of narrow viewMy spirit’s mystic flight pursue,And o’er my corse his terrors soundTo awe his trembling dupes around,And stupidly profane the endOf slandered Truth’s devoted friend.Now place me in my rayless bed,And carve these lines above my head:“This simple mound conceals from sight,A brother of poetic light.His heart was Love’s volcanic throne,Love, the sole king he e’er would own.All men, of every hue of skin,He reckoned as his nearest kin;He looked where’er oppression trod,And felt the inward flash of God,And prayed with an immortal hopeFor Freedom’s universal scope.Titles and power by outrage won,And handed down from sire to son,He ever held in utter scorn,And honoured most the lowly born.His follies, oh! the vast amount—Forgive them ere you stop to count,And let oblivion’s velvet pall,In charity conceal them all.“Inquirest thou the poet’s creed?’Twas brief, but served his utmost need:Truth is divine, wherever found,On Christian or on pagan ground;Engraven on the hearts of menAre God’s commandments, more than ten;The universe his laws proclaim,To learn them be my constant aim;Goodness and mercy, holy theseIn Jesus or in Socrates;The glory of an earthly spanIs service to our fellow man.’Twas thus with chastened heart he thought,Nor cared what theologians taught;And if he erred to an excessIn not believing more, or less,Ye who accuse, depart in fear,And spare his bones your censure here.If your own merits far excelThe poet’s troubled life, ’tis well.If in a truer light you live,Go! learn to pity and forgive.”
When toward me bends the shade of death,And friends deplore my waning breath,Let woman, flushed with vernal charms,Support me in her tender arms,And kindly let her bosom swellFor one who loved her sex too well.
And when the solemn change has come,Should sorrow hold my angel dumb,And dim her eyes with humid veil,And fix them on my features pale,My spirit, raised on wing to go,Will hover o’er her breast of snow,And on her saddened lips impressThe seal of love’s farewell caress,Then, if a tear-drop chance to rollAdown her cheek, my flying soulWill snatch the gem,—for earth too bright,—And bear it to the realms of light;Nor there the sparkling pledge resign,But hoard it as a thing divine,And smile to see its feeble rayBlend with thy beams, Eternity!
And now, dear woman, gently pressThose lids that claim thy tenderness,And hide those faded orbs of blueThat oft in rapture rolled on you,And through the silent hours of nightCradled your image in their light.Now let thy loving fingers closeThose lips above their ivory rows,And think, while you the task fulfil,How oft thine own have made them thrill,How oft, with youthful passion warm,Their kisses told my heart’s alarm,Enough; retire, forever blest;Let meaner hands perform the rest.
Next, let nor clown nor knave presumeTo bear my relics to the tomb;Let bards and sages, men of mind,Convey it thence with bosoms kind,And think, along the solemn way,“We bear a brother’s weight to-day.”Let no grim priest of narrow viewMy spirit’s mystic flight pursue,And o’er my corse his terrors soundTo awe his trembling dupes around,And stupidly profane the endOf slandered Truth’s devoted friend.
Now place me in my rayless bed,And carve these lines above my head:
“This simple mound conceals from sight,A brother of poetic light.His heart was Love’s volcanic throne,Love, the sole king he e’er would own.All men, of every hue of skin,He reckoned as his nearest kin;He looked where’er oppression trod,And felt the inward flash of God,And prayed with an immortal hopeFor Freedom’s universal scope.Titles and power by outrage won,And handed down from sire to son,He ever held in utter scorn,And honoured most the lowly born.His follies, oh! the vast amount—Forgive them ere you stop to count,And let oblivion’s velvet pall,In charity conceal them all.
“Inquirest thou the poet’s creed?’Twas brief, but served his utmost need:Truth is divine, wherever found,On Christian or on pagan ground;Engraven on the hearts of menAre God’s commandments, more than ten;The universe his laws proclaim,To learn them be my constant aim;Goodness and mercy, holy theseIn Jesus or in Socrates;The glory of an earthly spanIs service to our fellow man.’Twas thus with chastened heart he thought,Nor cared what theologians taught;And if he erred to an excessIn not believing more, or less,Ye who accuse, depart in fear,And spare his bones your censure here.If your own merits far excelThe poet’s troubled life, ’tis well.If in a truer light you live,Go! learn to pity and forgive.”
The End.
Transcriber’s Notes:Typographical errors have been silently corrected..Footnotes have been moved to the end of the poem in which they occur.
Transcriber’s Notes:
Typographical errors have been silently corrected..
Footnotes have been moved to the end of the poem in which they occur.