And what is life when love is fled?
The world, unshared by thee?
I'd rather slumber with the dead,
Than such a waif to be!
The bark that by no compass steers
Is lost, which way soe'er she veers—
And such is life to me!
A Hero of the Revolution.
Let not a tear be shed!
Of grief give not a token,
Although the silver thread
And golden bowl be broken!
A warrior lived—a Christian died!
Sorrow's forgotten in our pride!
Go, bring his battle-blade,
His helmet and his plume!
And be his trophies laid
Beside him in the tomb,
Where files of time-marked veterans come
With martial tramp and muffled drum!
Give to the earth his frame,
To moulder and decay;
But not his deathless name—
That can not pass away!
In youth, in manhood, and in age,
He dignified his country's page!
Green be the willow-bough
Above the swelling mound,
Where sleeps the hero now
In consecrated ground:
Thy epitaph, O Delavan!
God's noblest work—an honest man!
Rhyme and Reason.
An Apologue.
Two children of the olden time
In Flora's primrose season,
Were born. The name of one was Rhyme
That of the other Reason.
And both were beautiful and fair,
And pure as mountain stream and air.
As the boys together grew,
Happy fled their hours—
Grief or care they never knew
In the Paphian bowers.
See them roaming, hand in hand,
The pride of all the choral band!