Poems (Hinxman)/Early Death
EARLY DEATH.
She cometh down from the green hill-tops, From the golden slopes of wheat,From the leafy depth of the summer copse, Where blossom and herb are sweet;
From the nooks in the meadows, dewy and cool, Where winds the clear dark river,Where the willows shadow the glassy pool, And the rushes bend and quiver.
She watcheth no more the steps of the dawn Pass over the mountain's brow .She standeth no more on the household lawn, Made rich by the sunset's glow.
She turneth away from the home whose eaves The vine with the rose surroundeth;And all the sweet haunts of her youth she leaves, Where the voice of joy resoundeth.
Slow and silent the maid departs, For the downward way is steep;And the friends of her childhood with aching hearts Press round her steps and weep.
And fainter comes from the distant bowers The sound of the wood-bird's lay;Ever more faint the scent of flowers, And the smile of the summer day.
And she passeth into a region bleak, Where the clinging mists are chilly,With a drooping form, that, fair and meek, Hangs like a broken lily.
Feebler ever her steps appear, Quicker her troubled breath;For the sound of billows breaks on her ear, The roar of the sea of death.
Behold! she stands on the cloudy shore, The salt waves wash her feet:Have they power to bid the life once more Through her quickened pulses beat?
Is there health in the breath of the cold sea-gales That her eye lights up anew?That a sudden gleam in her face prevails O'er the shadowy ashen hue?
No, never more shall that pulse be stirred, Nor that cheek with fresh life glow;But she drinks in sounds by us unheard, And sights we may not know.
O mourners! cease to wail and weep As she smiles her calm farewell;&ear not for her the wild winds' sweep Nor the ocean's sullen swell.
"She sees a track that will guide her o'er The billow's crested height,—Where pierced Feet have walked before, And have left a crimson light.
O, what Hand from the heavens above Her outstretched hand doth meet!0O, what eternal Arms of love Upbear her faithful feet!
On in their strength, Beloved, pass, And the ocean's troubled faceShall change ere long to the sea of glass Which the heavenly hills embrace.
March 25. 1842.