Death of a Poet [pp. 372]

DEATH OF A POET.
to him, a source of unbounded pleasure. Kind Savior, grant that we all may faithfully follow his pious
example, then surely heaven will be our home, and
eternal happiness our reward!
My nephew was the third who was brought into
this yard. He was, indeed, a promising youth. He
had, but a short time before, left the home of his
childhood, and gone out into the busy world, and engaged in business, with fair prospects of success;
but, alas! that dread messenger, the king of terrors,
whose entrance cannot be resisted-whose calls must
be obeyed, came, and, with his iron grasp, which no
earthly power could unloose, laid hold on him; then we
were forced to say, "It is finished." By his bedside
did I kneel during the last hour he lived. Then I
saw him breathe his last. Solemn, solemn indeed
was the scene! to see one in the bloom of youthone who bade so fair to live, taken from this to the
spirit world; but he certainly fell into the hands of
a just God-one who is too wise to err.
The fourth and last body consigned to the narrow
tomb, by which I now sit, and over which gently
waves the weeping willow, that emblem of my
heart, was a fond, affectionate, and pious brother,
one to whom a widowed mother and three fatherless
sisters looked with the strongest confidence. He was
more than a brother; in one sense, he was a father
to us. Anxiously did he seek to make us comfortable and happy, and assiduously did he labor to provide
for us the necessaries of life. He was confined to
his bed two months; and never, during that time,
was the slightest murmur heard to escape his lips.
He bore his sufferings as only Christians do. The
day before his death, with perfect composure, and
with an unfaltering voice, did he give directions concerning his temporal affairs, his grave, his coffin,
and every thing pertaining to his funeral. He talked
about his unclouded prospects of heaven, and of meeting his friends there, especially that Savior who had
died that he might live. He called for his mother, his
sisters and brothers, and other friends, embraced them
in his arms, and bade them an affectionate farewell.
The privilege of seeing all this was denied me; for I,
too, was prostrate on my bed with the same disease
that terminated his earthly existence. This was on
Saturday evening, after which his sufferings greatly
increased, and during the night they were of the
most excruciating character. No pen could portray,
and no tongue describe the scene of that memorable
night; but that Savior in whom he had so implicitly
confided, was with him, and just as the lovely Sabbath morn, with cloudless sky, dawned, the Savior
steered the frail bark of the sufferer across the cold
Jordan. Then was his spirit loosed from its tenement of clay, conveyed by angels, perhaps one of
them his father who had gone before him, to that
heaven of sweet repose where sickness and death
are not known. The writer, with the rest of his
surviving friends, are left awhile longer to enjoy
earthly Sabbaths, while he is enjoying the Sabbath
of eternal rest. It was, indeed, a trial of great
severity to us, but our loss is his infinite gain; and
now, dear brother,
"Thou art sleeping here
Beneath this silent clod,
Far from affliction's toil and care,
And every anxious thought.
"Away from all life's changing scene,
From all its ills set free;
No more to feel death's cruel pains,
No more its terrors see.
"Long didst thou bear affliction's rod,
And deeply felt its dart;
No murmnur from thy lips was heard,
But patience ruled thy heart.
"In early youth thou didst forsake
The world with all its charms,
The pearl of countless price did seek,
And found its purest joys.
"This evergreen will mark the spot
Where~~~~1 nlPa lricslUA
By friends and kindred ne'er forgot,
Though laid in deepest shade."
DEATH OF A POET.
SOFT as the mist of evening wends its way
Along the shadowy vale; sad as the moon
Within thegathering tempest finds its way,
And turns the darkness pale; so soft the tones
In melting cadence fall from thee, so sad
Thy woe-wan features seem, just fading in
Eclipse. Upon thy marble cheek there sleeps
A solitary tear, that Death's cold hand
Has scarcely dared to touch; and on thy brow
The chilling damp is seen its way to steal.
With thy expiring art, to dark despair,
Thou strik'st the notes of grief, and mid the
Falling tempest sing'st the shipwreck of
Thy heart. The light of fitful flame has died
Within thy breast; the star of hope has set
In deeper gloom; the breath of praise is gone,
And now no more thy suffering lyre its
Strains will pour upon the listening ear.
Dim flits across thy mind the dreams of years
Long past, and start to view youth's sunlit days,
When wild romance, and wilder fancy, fed
Thy heart, and made thee hope the world a scene
Of endless bliss and love. But gone the dreams
And years of sunny youth, and gone the wild
Romantic bliss-untimely gone! for ever
Fled the joy that feared no storm to blast its
Bloom. Thy fate affliction sad will mourn, thy
Sins will make her drop the scalding tear, and
Bleed to know that neither time nor tears can
Ever wash those unforgiven crimes away.
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