5

10

15

20

And, lost each human trace, surrendering up
Thine individual being, shalt thou go

To mix forever with the elements,

To be a brother to the insensible rock

And to the sluggish clod, which the rude swain
Turns with his share, and treads upon. The oak
Shall send his roots abroad, and pierce thy mould.

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 world — with 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

In majesty, and the complaining brooks

That make the meadows green; and, poured round all,
Old Ocean's gray and melancholy waste, —

Are but the solemn decorations all

Of the great tomb of man. The golden sun,
The planets, all the infinite host of heaven,
Are shining on the sad abodes of death,

25 Through the still lapse of ages. All that tread
The globe are but a handful to the tribes
That slumber in its bosom. - Take the wings
Of morning, pierce the Barcan wilderness,

Or lose thyself in the continuous woods

Where rolls the Oregon, and hears no sound,

Save his own dashings — yet the dead are there:
And millions in those solitudes, since first

The flight of years began, have laid them down
In their last sleep - the dead reign there alone.
So shalt thou rest, and what if thou withdraw
In silence from the living, and no friend
Take note of thy departure? All that breathe
Will share thy destiny. The gay will laugh
When thou art gone, the solemn brood of care
Plod on, and each one as before will chase
His favorite phantom; yet all these snall leave
Their mirth and their employments, and shall come
And make their bed with thee. As the long train
Of ages glides away, the sons of men,

The youth in life's fresh spring, and he who goes
In the full strength of years, matron and maid,
The speechless babe, and the gray-headed man
Shall one by one be gathered to thy side,
By those who in their turn shall follow them.

So live, that when thy summons comes to join
The innumerable caravan, which moves
To that mysterious realm, where each shall take
His chamber in the silent halls of death,

Thou go not, like the quarry-slave at night,
Scourged to his dungeon, but, sustained and soothed
By an unfaltering trust, approach thy grave

Like one who wraps the drapery of his couch

About him, and lies down to pleasant dreams.
WILLIAM CULLEN BRYANT.

HELPS TO STUDY

Although this poem was written by its author when he was not quite eighteen, its dignity and beauty have made it one of the best-known poems in the English language. The title is made up of two Greek words, and means a view of death.

1. What does the poet say Nature does for those who "hold communion with her? 2. Where is Nature represented as beginning to speak to us of death? 3. The second paragraph speaks of death as a thing that must come to all mankind. 4. The third paragraph sweeps over the vast spaces of the earth, and everywhere the dead are; the whole earth is a vast tomb. The last fifteen lines speak of the future: all that live must come to this. 5. The last paragraph shows how death may have no terrors for us. 6. Read the poem aloud, slowly and carefully. Make sure that you get all the meanings.

For Study with the Glossary: Resolved, rude swain, favorite phantom, caravan.

For Oral and Written Composition: 1. A gladiator's life. 2. A crowd at a public game. 3. The pictures in Bryant's poem.

A DAY IN JUNE

And what is so rare as a day in June?

Then, if ever, come perfect days;

Then Heaven tries the earth if it be in tune,

And over it softly her warm ear lays : Whether we look, or whether we listen, We hear life murmur, or see it glisten;

5

And there's never a leaf nor a blade too mean

15

To be some happy creature's palace; The little bird sits at his door in the sun, Atilt like a blossom among the leaves,

And lets his illumined being o'errun

With the deluge of summer it receives;
His mate feels the eggs beneath her wings,
And the heart in her dumb breast flutters and sings;
He sings to the wide world, and she to her nest,
In the nice ear of Nature which song is the best?

20

Now is the high-tide of the year,

And whatever of life hath ebbed away
Comes flooding back with a ripply cheer,

Into every bare inlet and creek and bay;
Now the heart is so full that a drop overfills it,
We are happy now because God wills it ;

No matter how barren the past may have been,
"T is enough for us now that the leaves are green;
We sit in the warm shade and feel right well

How the sap creeps up and the blossoms swell;

We may shut our eyes, but we cannot help knowing
That skies are clear and grass is growing;

The breeze comes whispering in our ear,
That dandelions are blossoming near,

That maize has sprouted, that streams are flowing,
That the river is bluer than the sky,

That the robin is plastering his house hard by;
And if the breeze kept the good news back,
For other couriers we should not laek;

We could guess it all by yon heifer's lowing,
And hark! how clear bold chanticleer,
Warmed with the new wine of the year,
Tells all in his lusty crowing!

Joy comes, grief goes, we know not how;
Everything is happy now,

Everything is upward striving;

'T is as easy now for the heart to be true
As for grass to be green or skies to be blue,