1830-40.] JOHN B. DILLON. Ill The earth still moved in beauty there, With its clustering groves and emerald plains, And the pure breeze bore the Prophet's prayer To the throne where the Rock of Ages BURIAL OF THE BEAUTIFUL. "Where shall the dead, and the beautiful, sleep ? In the vale where the willow and cypress weep ; "Where the wind of the west breathes its softest sigh ; "Where the silvery stream is flowing nigh. And the pure, clear drops of its rising sprays Glitter like gems in the bright moon's rays — Wliere the sun's wann smile may never dispel Night's tears o'er the form we loved so well — In the vale where the sparkling waters flow ; "Where the fairest, earliest violets grow ; Where the sky and the earth are softly fair; Bury her there — bury her there ! Where shall the dead, and the beautiful, sleep ? Where wild flowers bloom in the valley deep ; Where the sweet robes of spring may soft- ly rest. In purity, over the sleeper's breast: "Wliere is heard the voice of the sinless dove. Breathing notes of deep aud^undying love ; Where no column proud in the sun may glow, To mock the heart that is resting below ; "Where pure hearts are sleeping, forever blest ; "Where wandering Peril love to rest ; Where the sky and the earth are softly fair, Bury her there — bury her there ! THE FUNERAL OF THE YEAR. Come to the funeral of the year ! JNot with spirits worn by sadness — Bring no sigh — and shed no tear — Chant the song of joy and gladness. Let the dead year find the tomb That many a year hath found before it, Hidden in the past's dark gloom, And Lethe's waters flowing o'er it. And other years will still press on, Bearing, upon each lovely morrow, A calmer sky — a clearer sun — And fewer cups of human sorrow. Learning's star shall brightly glow, As science hidden ti'uths discloses — Purer streams of light shall flow Where superstition now reposes. Still the rose-bud will expand O'er the dimpled cheek of beauty. And the callous " single band " Turn from waywardness to duty — Love's frail chain will firmer bind Hearts that wear the rosy fetter ; And each coming year will find Mankind truer, kinder, better. The demagogue will cease to be, As he has been, his own extoller ; And Freedom's land be really free. With none to wear the " golden collar ; " Aiid patriot's names will not be made The scoff* and jest of tavern brawlers — And statesmen's fame will not be weigh'd Against the rant of daily scrawlers.
