The power, the will, that never rest, Dear child! I know that thou wilt grieve Thy little heart will soon be healed, When we descend to dust again, Where will the final dwelling be "EARTH'S CHILDREN CLEAVE TO EARTH." EARTH'S children cleave to Earth-her frail Decaying children dread decay. Yon wreath of mist that leaves the vale, And clings to fern and copsewood set Yet all in vain-it passes still From hold to hold, it cannot stay, And in the very beams that fill The world with glory, wastes away, And that which sprung of earth is now A portion of the glorious sky. THE HUNTER'S VISION. UPON a rock that, high and sheer, Rose from the mountain's breast, A weary hunter of the deer Had sat him down to rest, And bared to the soft summer air All dim in haze the mountains lay, With dimmer vales between ; And rivers glimmered on their way, By forests faintly seen; While ever rose a murmuring sound, From brooks below and bees around. He listened, till he seemed to hear A strain, so soft and low, The listener scarce might know. With such a tone, so sweet and mild, The watching mother lulls her child. "Thou weary huntsman," thus it said, The pleasant land of rest is spread And those whom thou wouldst gladly see He looked, and 'twixt the earth and sky A shadowy region met his eye, And grew beneath his gaze, As if the vapours of the air Had gathered into shapes so fair. Groves freshened as he looked, and flowers Showed bright on rocky bank, And fountains welled beneath the bowers, He saw the glittering streams, he heard And friends-the dead-in boyhood dear, A fair young girl, the hamlet's pride- Bounding, as was her wont, she came Right towards his resting-place, And stretched her hand and called his name With that sweet smiling face. Forward with fixed and eager eyes, The hunter leaned in act to rise: Forward he leaned, and headlong down He saw the rocks, steep, stern, and brown, An instant, in his fall; A frightful instant—and no more, The dream and life at once were o'er. |