66 For in the rocky strait beneath, Lay Suliote sire and son; They had heap'd high the piles of death They have cross'd the torrent, and on they come ! Woe for the mountain hearth and home! There, where the hunter laid by his spear, There, where the lyre hath been sweet to hear, And now the horn's loud blast was heard, Till ev'n the upper air was stirr'd, "Hark! they bring music, my joyous child! What saith the trumpet to Suli's wild! Doth it light thine eye with so quick a fire, As if at a glance of thine armed sire? -Still!-be thou still!-there are brave men low— Thou wouldst not smile couldst thou see him now!" But nearer came the clash of steel, Through the dark pass was borne. "Hear'st thou the sound of their savage mirth? And from the arrowy peak she sprung, And fast the fair child bore, A veil upon the wind was flung, THE FAREWELL TO THE DEAD. The following piece is founded on a beautiful part of the Greek funeral service, in which relatives and friends are invited to embrace the deceased (whose face is uncovered), and to bid their final adieu. See Christian Researches in the Mediterranean. -"Tis hard to lay into the earth A countenance so benign! a form that walk'd But yesterday so stately o'er the earth! WILSON. COME near!-ere yet the dust Soil the bright paleness of the settled brow, In still and solemn trust! Come near !—once more let kindred lips be press'd Look yet on this young face! What shall the beauty, from amongst us gone, Gladdening its hearth and race? Dim grows the semblance on man's heart impress'd-Come near, and bear the beautiful to rest! For tears befit earth's partings!-Yesterday And sunshine seem'd to dwell Where'er he moved-the welcome and the bless'd! Look yet on him, whose eye Meets yours no more in sadness or in mirth! Was he not fair amidst the sons of earth, The beings born to die? -But not where death has power may love be bless'd— Come near! and bear ye the beloved to rest! How may the mother's heart Dwell on her son, and dare to hope again? The spring's rich promise hath been given in vain, Is he not gone, our brightest and our best? Come near! and bear the early-call'd to rest! Look on him! is he laid To slumber from the harvest or the chase? -Too still and sad the smile upon his face, Yet that, ev'n that, must fade! Death holds not long unchang'd his fairest guest,― Come near! and bear the mortal to his rest! His voice of mirth hath ceased Amidst the vineyards! there is left no place Earth must take earth to moulder on her breast; Yet mourn ye not as they Whose spirit's light is quench'd!-for him the past All is not here of our beloved and bless'd Leave ye the sleeper with his God to rest! |