LINES ON THE DEATH OF THACKERAY. 333
��LINES ON THE DEATH OF THACKERAY.
��BY MARY HELEN BOODEY.
'Twas night in the great city, and the sound
Of passing thousands echoed forth less loud Through the dim streets. The noisy bound
Of human footsteps, gay, and soft, and proud, All, all had passed as passed the fleeting crowd,
Some heavy with a weight of untold woe, Some gay and light as though no sorrow cloud
Had bowed them to the earth beneath its blow ; All these had fled and only now and then Broke on the ear the voice and tread of men.
Yet there was one of all that mighty throng,
One glorious by intellect and fame, One now the theme of many a mournful song,
Whose glowing, burning words engrave his name In characters of pure, undying fame
Upon the hearts of men. Yet in the gloom of night Alone he struggled and alone he died.
Died ! Passed away ! Fled to a world of light, Where, casting off the robings of his soul. Beauty and glory crowned his kingly brow, Before whose splendor angels, e'en, might bow.
O Death ! relentless, stern and unsubdued,
Thou "lovest a shining mark ;" well didst thou choose This one from others ; — many hearts have sued
In vain for that one fearful power, to lose Their own existence ; — -to precipitate
Themselves into Eternity ; to test That strange hereafter, life in which men date
These longings for the beautiful, this eager quest For happiness and rest. But Thackeray's death Was like, some glorious noon shaded by Tempest's breath.
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