The Dead.

A DIRGE.

lobe the dead!

The precious spirits gone before,

And waiting on that peaceful shore To meet with welcome looks

and kiss me yet ouce more.

I love the dead!

And fondly doth my fancy paint

Each dear one, wash'd from earthly taint,

By patience and by hope

made a most gentle saint.

O glorious dead!

Without one spot upon the dress

Of your ethereal loveliness,

Ye linger round me still

with earnest will to bless.

Enfranchised dead!

Each fault and failing left behind

And nothing now to chill or bind,

How gloriously ye reign

in majesty of mind!

O royal dead!

The resting, free, unfetter'd dead,
The yearning, conscious, holy dead,

The hoping, waiting, calm,

the happy changeless dead!

I love the dead!

And well forget their little ill,
Eager to bask my memory still

In all their best of words

and deeds and ways and will.

I bless the dead!

Their good, half choked by this world's weeds, Is blooming now in heavenly meads,

And ripening golden fruit

of all those early seeds.

I trust the dead!

They understand me frankly now,

There are no clouds on heart or brow,

But spirit, reading spirit,

answereth glow for glow.

I praise the dead!

All their tears are wiped away,

Their darkness turn'd to perfect day,—

How blessed are the dead,

how beautiful be they!

O gracious dead!

That watch me from your paradise
With happy tender starlike eyes,

Let your sweet influence rain

me blessings from the skies.

Yet, helpless dead,

Vainly my yearning nature dares
Such unpremeditated prayers;

All vain it were for them:

as even for me theirs.

Immortal dead!

Ye in your lot are fix'd as fate,

And man or angel is too late

To beckon back by prayer

one change upon your state.

O, godlike dead,

Ye that do rest, like Noah's dove, Fearless I leave you to the love Of Him who gave you peace

to bear with you above!

And ye, the dead,

Godless on earth, and gone astray,

Alas, your hour is past away,The Judge is just; for you

it now were sin to pray.

Still, all ye dead,

First may be last and last be first,

Charity counteth no man curst,

But hopeth still in Him

whose love would save the worst.

Therefore, ye dead,

I love you, be ye good or ill,

For GOD, our GOD, doth love me still,

And

you

He loved on earth

with love that nought could chill.

And some, just dead,

To me on earth most deeply dear,

Who loved and nursed and blest me here,

I love you with a love

that casteth out all fear:

Come near me, Dead!

In spirit come to me, and kiss,—

No!-I must wait awhile for this:

A few, few years or days,

and I too feed on bliss!

The Cromlech du Tus, Guernsey.

Hoary relic, stern and old,-
Heaving huge above the mould
Like some mammoth, lull'd to sleep
By the magic-murmuring deep
Till those grey gigantic bones
Gorgon-time hath frown'd to stones,-
Who shall tell thine awful tale,
Massy Cromlech, at "The Vale ?"
Ruthless altar, hungry tomb!
Superstition's throne of gloom,
Where in black sepulchral state
High the hooded Spectre sate
Terrible and throng'd by fears
Brooding for a thousand years
As a thunder-cloud above
All that wretched men may love,—
Is there no grim witness near
That shall whisper words of fear,
Every brother's heart to thrill,
Every brother's blood to chill,
While thy records are reveal'd
And thy mysteries unseal'd ?—

Lift, with Titan toil and pain,
Lift the lid by might and main,-
Lift the lid and look within
On this charnel-house of Sin!
O twin brethren, how and when
Dwelt
ye in this rocky den?

Rise, dread martyrs! for your bones
Chronicle these Cromlech-stones;
Rise, ye grisly, ghastly pair,
-Skeletons! how came ye there—
Kneeling starkly side by side

More like life than those who died?
More like life ?- what a spell
Of horror cowers in that cell!
More like life!-Alive they went
Into that stone tenement,
Bound as in religious ease
Meekly kneeling on their knees,
And the cruel thongs confined
All but the distracted mind
That with terror raved to see

Woe! how slow such death would be:
Woe! how slow and full of dread:
Pining, dying, but not dead,-
Pining, dying in the tomb,

Drown'd in gulfs of starving gloom,
With corruption, hideous fear,
Creeping noiselessly more near,
While the victims slowly died
Link'd together side by side
Till in manacled mad strife
Both had struggled out of life!

Yea: some idol claim'd the price

Of this living sacrifice;

Some grim demon's dark high priest
Bound these slaves for Odin's feast,

Offering up with rites of hell

Human pangs to Thor or Bel!