Two of its passages, passages of
the purest ideality, would alone render it worthy of the general
commendation it has received.
So live, that when thy summons comes to join
The innumerable caravan that moves
To that mysterious realm where each shall take
His chamber in the silent halls of death,
Thou go not, like the quarry slave at night,
Scourged to his dungeon; but sustained and soothed
By an unfaltering trust, approach thy grave
Like one who wraps the drapery of his couch
About him, and lies down to pleasant dream.
The hills
Rock-ribbed and ancient as the sun- the vales
Stretching in pensive quietude between-
The venerable woods- rivers that move
In majesty, and the complaining brooks
That make the meadows green- and, pured round all,
Old Ocean's gray and melancholy waste-
Are but the solemn decorations all
Of the great tomb of man.
Oh, fairest of the Rural Maids! is a gem, of which we cannot
sufficiently express our admiration. We quote in full.
Oh, fairest of the rural maids!
Thy birth was in the forest shades;
Green boughs and glimpses of the sky
Were all that met thine infant eye.
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