THANATOPSIS 1

To him who in the love of Nature holds Communion with her visible forms, she speaks

A various language; for his gayer hours She has a voice of gladness, and a smile And eloquence of beauty, and she glides Into his darker musings, with a mild And healing sympathy, that steals away Their sharpness, ere he is aware. When

thoughts

Of the last bitter hour come like a blight Over thy spirit, and sad images

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Of the stern agony, and shroud, and pall, And breathless darkness, and the narrow house,

Make thee to shudder, and grow sick at heart;

Go forth, under the open sky, and list To Nature's teachings, while from all around

Earth and her waters, and the depths of air

Comes a still voice-Yet a few days, and thee

The all-beholding sun shall see no more In all his course; nor yet in the cold ground,

Where thy pale form was laid, with many tears,

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Yet not to thine eternal resting-place Shalt thou retire alone, nor couldst thou wish

Couch more magnificent. Thou shalt lie down

With patriarchs of the infant worldwith kings,

The powerful of the earth-the wise, the good,

Fair forms, and hoary seers of ages past, All in one mighty sepulchre. The hills Rock-ribbed and ancient as the sun,-the vales

Stretching in pensive quietness between; The venerable woods-rivers that move 40 In majesty, and the complaining brooks That make the meadows green; and,

poured round all,