They would but turn thee from thy high resolve. Of an exalted purpose! Press sunward on. Eagle-like, Thou shalt not be alone. Have but an eye on God, as surely God Will have an eye on thee-press on! press on! THE LAST REQUEST. BURY me by the Ocean's side O give me a grave on the verge of the deep, When the sea-gales blow, my marble may sweep— Shall burst on my turf, And bathe my cold bosom, in death as I sleep! Bury me by the sea, That the vesper at eve-fall may sing o'er my grave, Or the hum of the shell in the silent wave! Shall be beat on the shore, By the storm and the surge-like march of the brave! Bury me by the deep Where a living footstep never may tread- O wake not with sorrow the dream of the dead! Of the breaking surge, And the silent tears of the sea on my head! And grave no Parian praise- To flatter the awe of its solemn gloom! Of the star-eyed night, And the violet morning my rest will illume: And honors, more dear Than of sorrow and love, shall be strewn on my clay With its fragrant dews and its crimson array— On the verge of the deep, Till the sky and the seas shall have passed away! JOSEPH H. NICHOLS. BENNETT'S BRIDGE.* THOU beautiful, romantic Dell! Oft, with my oak-leaf basket green, And, on the ground, all scarlet made, This is a wild and picturesque pass of the Housatonic, about twenty miles from its mouth, near the pleasant village of Newtown, Connec ticut. Pick'd in full stems, as low I kneel'd, 'Tis glorious, here, at breaking day, That kiss'd, all night, each blossom's hue, Till, like a tumbling ocean spread, They hide low vale and tall cliff's head, And many a tree's fantastic form Looks like some toss'd ship in a storm. How still the scene! yet, here war's hum Fair was the hour, secluded Dell! Sweet notes of thee. The bright moon shone, And frosted rocks, and streams, and tree, A silver song the waters sung, Along my own blue flowing river. WILD cataract of woods! how bright Thy sheet of liquid silver gleams, Through the green cedars, on my sight, Like a tall angel's spear in dreams. And see the snowy wreath of spray, Meet for a spotless virgin's shroud, Curl up the clear blue vault away, To form the future tempest-cloud. Through mountain shores, with red and gold O'er rocks in many a white cascade. Thou dashest off at one wild bound! |