That mind, as a guide that trod paths on the ocean
Its marks o’er the billowy desert to place,
While man has a heart, and the deep is in motion,
The wide world shall honor, the mariner trace.
The stars in their courses to grasp and to measure,
His eye loved the blue arch of ether to climb;
His soul rose beyond them to lay up a treasure
More bright than the stars, more enduring than time.
And here, while the sorrowing Salem[2] is shrouded
In weeds, for the son of her pride and her love,
’T is his to behold, with a vision unclouded,
The glories unveiled of the Salem above.
With Bowditch inscribed, for the whole earth’s revering,
In letters of light to each point beaming round,
A monument formed of his works, now is rearing
Its head, where with clusters of planets ’t is crowned.
[2] His birth-place.
[THE BURIAL OF SCHILLER.]
The still and solemn, shadowy hour,
When Saturday in Sabbath dies,
O’er Weimar hangs; with clouds that lower
And veil in black the moon and skies.
Lo! from yon mansion lights appear,
Pale glimmering through the midnight gloom.
A coffined form is on the bier,
And thence borne forward to the tomb.