LAY HIS SWORD BY HIS SIDE.
Lay his sword by his side,[1]—it hath served him too well
Not to rest near his pillow below;
To the last moment true, from his hand ere it fell,
Its point was still turned to a flying foe.
Fellow-laborers in life, let them slumber in death,
Side by side, as becomes the reposing brave,—
That sword which he loved still unbroke in its sheath,
And himself unsubdued in his grave.
Yet pause—for, in fancy, a still voice I hear,
As if breathed from his brave heart's remains;—
Faint echo of that which, in Slavery's ear,
Once sounded the war-word, "Burst your chains!"
And it cries from the grave where the hero lies deep,
"Tho' the day of your Chieftain for ever hath set,
"Oh leave not his sword thus inglorious to sleep,—
"It hath victory's life in it yet!"
"Should some alien, unworthy such weapon to wield,
"Dare to touch thee, my own gallant sword,
"Then rest in thy sheath, like a talisman sealed,
Or return to the grave of thy chainless lord.
But, if grasped by a hand that hath learned the proud use
Of a falchion, like thee, on the battle-plain,—
Then, at Liberty's summons, like lightning let loose,
Leap forth from thy dark sheath again!"
[1] It was the custom of the ancient Irish, in the manner of the Scythians, to bury the favorite swords of their heroes along with them.
OH, COULD WE DO WITH THIS WORLD OF OURS.
Oh, could we do with this world of ours
As thou dost with thy garden bowers,
Reject the weeds and keep the flowers,
What a heaven on earth we'd make it!
So bright a dwelling should be our own,
So warranted free from sigh or frown,
That angels soon would be coming down,
By the week or month to take it.
Like those gay flies that wing thro' air,
And in themselves a lustre bear,
A stock of light, still ready there,
Whenever they wish to use it;
So, in this world I'd make for thee,
Our hearts should all like fire-flies be,
And the flash of wit or poesy
Break forth whenever we choose it.
While every joy that glads our sphere
Hath still some shadow hovering near,
In this new world of ours, my dear,
Such shadows will all be omitted:—
Unless they're like that graceful one,
Which, when thou'rt dancing in the sun.
Still near thee, leaves a charm upon
Each spot where it hath flitted.