MOUNT AUBURN.
Written immediately after a visit to that sacred spot. Boston, Oct. 3, 1841.
They took me to Mount Auburn—whereThey bury the lov’d, the brave, the fair;’Twas beautiful, all beautiful!The shaded walk—the grove so cool—The flowers planted there by love—The green and leafy arch above—The grassy mound—and the polish’d stone—And the strangers passing, one by one.I saw it all—yet the heart would rove,Borne onward by deep cherish’d love,And I thought oftwo dear lonely gravesIn the far off West, where the willow waves.O! beautiful Mount Auburn—whereThey bury the loved, the brave, the fair!Death always chooses the sweetest flowersWhen he comes to this living world of ours;And now he has chosen thee, sweet place!The loveliest part of the earth’s fair face,As a home for those who silent sleep,Where friends may come, and smile, or weep;For Death is not always a tyrant king,Casting a gloom over every thing;Here dwelleth not unmingled pain,For those who die shall live again,And every tenanted spot of groundShall give up its dead at the trumpet’s sound;SoI smilewhen I think ofthose lonely gravesIn the far off West, where the willow waves.O! Death’s own palace royal—whereThey bury the loved, the brave, the fair!I have gazed on thy sculptured works of art,Bearing many a lesson to reach the heart;The tributes of love to those who have died,Who lie in earth’s bosom, side by side;Peace to your ashes, silent dead!I may not lay my humble headIn such a highly favor’d spot,When God has call’d, andI am not;For this I care not, so I beBuried beneath some branching tree;But could I choose my resting placeWhen I have run my earthly race,’Twould bebeside those lonely gravesIn the far off West, where the willow waves.O! Death’s most cheerful garden—whereThey bury the loved, the brave, the fair!The sweet birds love to visit thee,And build their nests on many a tree;And in some cool sequester’d spot,They sing to those who hear them not;The busy bee comes often too,To drink the balmy honey dew,Where flowers bloom in beauty rare,And scatter fragrance through the air.O! bright hued flowers! howcanye bloomSo very near the cold dark tomb?O! warbling birds! howcanye singWhere death is mark’d on every thing?Sweet flowers! ye speak ofHeavento me;For bright to all eternity,“Transplanted flowers” shall bloom above,Where all the air is full of love.And birds! ye do not sing in vain,Ye chant ofHeavenin every strain!For I know that thoseIloved so well,In Heaven their notes of triumph swell;They sleep inthose two lonely gravesIn the far off West, where the willow waves.
They took me to Mount Auburn—whereThey bury the lov’d, the brave, the fair;’Twas beautiful, all beautiful!The shaded walk—the grove so cool—The flowers planted there by love—The green and leafy arch above—The grassy mound—and the polish’d stone—And the strangers passing, one by one.I saw it all—yet the heart would rove,Borne onward by deep cherish’d love,And I thought oftwo dear lonely gravesIn the far off West, where the willow waves.O! beautiful Mount Auburn—whereThey bury the loved, the brave, the fair!Death always chooses the sweetest flowersWhen he comes to this living world of ours;And now he has chosen thee, sweet place!The loveliest part of the earth’s fair face,As a home for those who silent sleep,Where friends may come, and smile, or weep;For Death is not always a tyrant king,Casting a gloom over every thing;Here dwelleth not unmingled pain,For those who die shall live again,And every tenanted spot of groundShall give up its dead at the trumpet’s sound;SoI smilewhen I think ofthose lonely gravesIn the far off West, where the willow waves.O! Death’s own palace royal—whereThey bury the loved, the brave, the fair!I have gazed on thy sculptured works of art,Bearing many a lesson to reach the heart;The tributes of love to those who have died,Who lie in earth’s bosom, side by side;Peace to your ashes, silent dead!I may not lay my humble headIn such a highly favor’d spot,When God has call’d, andI am not;For this I care not, so I beBuried beneath some branching tree;But could I choose my resting placeWhen I have run my earthly race,’Twould bebeside those lonely gravesIn the far off West, where the willow waves.O! Death’s most cheerful garden—whereThey bury the loved, the brave, the fair!The sweet birds love to visit thee,And build their nests on many a tree;And in some cool sequester’d spot,They sing to those who hear them not;The busy bee comes often too,To drink the balmy honey dew,Where flowers bloom in beauty rare,And scatter fragrance through the air.O! bright hued flowers! howcanye bloomSo very near the cold dark tomb?O! warbling birds! howcanye singWhere death is mark’d on every thing?Sweet flowers! ye speak ofHeavento me;For bright to all eternity,“Transplanted flowers” shall bloom above,Where all the air is full of love.And birds! ye do not sing in vain,Ye chant ofHeavenin every strain!For I know that thoseIloved so well,In Heaven their notes of triumph swell;They sleep inthose two lonely gravesIn the far off West, where the willow waves.
They took me to Mount Auburn—whereThey bury the lov’d, the brave, the fair;’Twas beautiful, all beautiful!The shaded walk—the grove so cool—The flowers planted there by love—The green and leafy arch above—The grassy mound—and the polish’d stone—And the strangers passing, one by one.I saw it all—yet the heart would rove,Borne onward by deep cherish’d love,And I thought oftwo dear lonely gravesIn the far off West, where the willow waves.
They took me to Mount Auburn—where
They bury the lov’d, the brave, the fair;
’Twas beautiful, all beautiful!
The shaded walk—the grove so cool—
The flowers planted there by love—
The green and leafy arch above—
The grassy mound—and the polish’d stone—
And the strangers passing, one by one.
I saw it all—yet the heart would rove,
Borne onward by deep cherish’d love,
And I thought oftwo dear lonely graves
In the far off West, where the willow waves.
O! beautiful Mount Auburn—whereThey bury the loved, the brave, the fair!Death always chooses the sweetest flowersWhen he comes to this living world of ours;And now he has chosen thee, sweet place!The loveliest part of the earth’s fair face,As a home for those who silent sleep,Where friends may come, and smile, or weep;For Death is not always a tyrant king,Casting a gloom over every thing;Here dwelleth not unmingled pain,For those who die shall live again,And every tenanted spot of groundShall give up its dead at the trumpet’s sound;SoI smilewhen I think ofthose lonely gravesIn the far off West, where the willow waves.
O! beautiful Mount Auburn—where
They bury the loved, the brave, the fair!
Death always chooses the sweetest flowers
When he comes to this living world of ours;
And now he has chosen thee, sweet place!
The loveliest part of the earth’s fair face,
As a home for those who silent sleep,
Where friends may come, and smile, or weep;
For Death is not always a tyrant king,
Casting a gloom over every thing;
Here dwelleth not unmingled pain,
For those who die shall live again,
And every tenanted spot of ground
Shall give up its dead at the trumpet’s sound;
SoI smilewhen I think ofthose lonely graves
In the far off West, where the willow waves.
O! Death’s own palace royal—whereThey bury the loved, the brave, the fair!I have gazed on thy sculptured works of art,Bearing many a lesson to reach the heart;The tributes of love to those who have died,Who lie in earth’s bosom, side by side;Peace to your ashes, silent dead!I may not lay my humble headIn such a highly favor’d spot,When God has call’d, andI am not;For this I care not, so I beBuried beneath some branching tree;But could I choose my resting placeWhen I have run my earthly race,’Twould bebeside those lonely gravesIn the far off West, where the willow waves.
O! Death’s own palace royal—where
They bury the loved, the brave, the fair!
I have gazed on thy sculptured works of art,
Bearing many a lesson to reach the heart;
The tributes of love to those who have died,
Who lie in earth’s bosom, side by side;
Peace to your ashes, silent dead!
I may not lay my humble head
In such a highly favor’d spot,
When God has call’d, andI am not;
For this I care not, so I be
Buried beneath some branching tree;
But could I choose my resting place
When I have run my earthly race,
’Twould bebeside those lonely graves
In the far off West, where the willow waves.
O! Death’s most cheerful garden—whereThey bury the loved, the brave, the fair!The sweet birds love to visit thee,And build their nests on many a tree;And in some cool sequester’d spot,They sing to those who hear them not;The busy bee comes often too,To drink the balmy honey dew,Where flowers bloom in beauty rare,And scatter fragrance through the air.O! bright hued flowers! howcanye bloomSo very near the cold dark tomb?O! warbling birds! howcanye singWhere death is mark’d on every thing?Sweet flowers! ye speak ofHeavento me;For bright to all eternity,“Transplanted flowers” shall bloom above,Where all the air is full of love.And birds! ye do not sing in vain,Ye chant ofHeavenin every strain!For I know that thoseIloved so well,In Heaven their notes of triumph swell;They sleep inthose two lonely gravesIn the far off West, where the willow waves.
O! Death’s most cheerful garden—where
They bury the loved, the brave, the fair!
The sweet birds love to visit thee,
And build their nests on many a tree;
And in some cool sequester’d spot,
They sing to those who hear them not;
The busy bee comes often too,
To drink the balmy honey dew,
Where flowers bloom in beauty rare,
And scatter fragrance through the air.
O! bright hued flowers! howcanye bloom
So very near the cold dark tomb?
O! warbling birds! howcanye sing
Where death is mark’d on every thing?
Sweet flowers! ye speak ofHeavento me;
For bright to all eternity,
“Transplanted flowers” shall bloom above,
Where all the air is full of love.
And birds! ye do not sing in vain,
Ye chant ofHeavenin every strain!
For I know that thoseIloved so well,
In Heaven their notes of triumph swell;
They sleep inthose two lonely graves
In the far off West, where the willow waves.