See that fragile form, then, with the glowing spirit within, panting for freedom and its "native skies," borne along in the vessel of Religion, upon a calm and sunny sea. He looks aloft, and anticipates with serene and joyful trust, his entrance into the port of everlasting peace. The vessel glides, with increasing velocity, her sails all set, and gleaming in the reflected radiance of the spirit-world. Now she enters the port, and nears that blessed shore,
"Where tempests never beat, nor billows roar."
The few days which remained to Michael on earth, he spent in correcting his poem of the "Last Judgment," and in pluming his spirit for its upward flight. His bodily strength was exhausted, and he was obliged to keep his bed. His mind was meditative and hopeful, dwelling almost wholly upon various passages of Holy Writ, which he would repeat and comment upon to his friends.
Mr. George Lawson, afterwards Dr. Lawson, professor of theology in the "Secession Church," being called to preach for a settlement in the neighborhood of Kinnesswood, hastened upon his arrival there, to see his friend Bruce. He found him in bed, with his countenance pale as death, while his eyes shone like lamps in a sepulchre. The poet was delighted to see him, and spoke with as much ease and freedom as if he had been in perfect health. Mr. Lawson remarked to him that he was glad to see him so cheerful. "And why," said he, "should not a man be cheerful on the verge of heaven?" "But," said Mr. L., "you look so emaciated. I am afraid you cannot last long." "You remind me," he replied, "of the story of the Irishman, who was told that his hovel was about to fall, and I answer with him, Let it fall, it is not mine!"
This cheerfulness continued during his illness, till his mother, one morning, announced to him, just as he was awaking out of sleep, that Mr. Swanston was dead. He looked at her with a fixed stare, as if stunned by the intelligence. Upon recovering he satisfied himself as to the correctness of the statement, and was never afterwards seen to smile! Still we do not attach much importance to this circumstance; for it often happens that when the countenance is cold and ghastly, the heart within is warm and serene. He lingered for a month, manifesting little interest in what was said or done around him, and on the 5th of July, calmly and imperceptibly fell asleep, aged twenty-one years and three months.
So fades a summer cloud away,
So sinks the gale when storms are o'er,
So gently shuts the eye of day,
So fades a wave along the shore.
Life's labor done, as sinks the clay,
Light from its load the spirit flies,
While heaven and earth combine to say,
How bless'd the Christian when he dies!
His Bible was found upon his pillow, marked down at Jer. xxii: 10, "Weep ye not for the dead, neither bemoan him;" and on the blank leaf this homely but expressive verse was written:—
"'Tis very vain for me to boast,
How small a price my Bible cost;
The day of judgment will make clear,
'Twas very cheap or very dear."
He was buried in the church-yard of Portmoak, in the very centre of the scenes hallowed and beautified by his muse. A monument has been erected to Bruce through the subscription of his friends, of which the following is the simple but appropriate inscription: