LINES

WRITTEN AT NIGHT IN CAVE HILL CEMETERY.

———

BY GEO. D. PRENTICE.

———

One evening, dear Virginia, in thy life,

When thou and I were straying side by side

Beneath the holy moonlight, and our thoughts

Seemed taking a deep hue of mournfulness

From the sweet, solemn hour, I said if thou,

Whose young years scarcely numbered half my own,

Should’st pass before me to the spirit-land,

I would, on some mild eve beneath the moon,

Shining in heaven as it was shining then,

Go forth alone to lay me by thy grave,

And render to thy cherished memory

The last sad tribute of a stricken heart.

Thine answer was a sigh, a tear, a sob,

A gentle pressure of the hand, and thus

My earnest vow was hallowed. A thin cloud,

Like a pole winding-sheet, that moment passed

Across the moon, and as its shadow fell,

Like a mysterious omen of the tomb,

Upon our kindred spirits, thou didst turn

Thine eye to that wan spectre of the skies,

And, gazing on the solemn portent, weep

As if thy head were waters.

Weary years

Since then have planted furrows on my brow,

And sorrows in my heart, and the pale moon,

That shone around us on that lovely eve,

Is shining now upon thy swarded grave,

And I have come, a pilgrim of the night,

To bow at memory’s holy shrine and keep

My unforgotten vow.

Dear, parted one,

Friend of my better years, dark months have passed

With all their awful shadows o’er the earth,

Since this green turf was laid above thy rest,

’Mid sighs and streaming tears and stifled groans,

But oh! thy gentle memory is not dim

In the deep hearts that loved thee. We have set

This sweet young rose-tree o’er thy hallowed grave,

And may the skies shed their serenest dews

Around it, may the summer clouds distil

Their gentlest rains upon it, may the fresh

Warm zephyrs fan it with their softest breath,

And daily may the bright and holy beams

Of morning greet it with their sweetest smile,

That it may wave its roses o’er thy dust,

Dear emblems of the flowers that thou so oft

In life didst fling upon our happy hearts

From thy own spirit’s Eden. Yet we know

’Tis but an humble offering to thee,

Who dwellest where the fadeless roses bloom,

In heaven’s eternal sunshine.

To our eyes

Thy beauty has not faded from the earth;

We see it in the flowers that lift their lids

To greet the early spring-time—in the bow

The magic pencil of the sunshine paints

Upon the flying rain-clouds—in the stars

That glitter from the blue abyss of night—

And in the strange mysterious loveliness

Of every holy sunset. To our ears

The music of thy loved tones is not lost;

We hear it in the low, sweet cadences

Of wave and stream and fountain, in the notes

Of birds that from the sky and forest hail

The sunrise with their songs, and in the wild

And soul-like breathings of the evening wind

O’er all the thousand sweet Eolian lyres

Of grove and forest. Yet no sight or sound

In all the world of nature is as sweet,

Dear, lost Virginia, as when thou wast here

To gaze and listen with us. The young flowers

And the pure stars seem pale and cold and dim,

As if they looked through blinding tears—alas!

The tears are in our eyes. The melodies

Of wave and stream and bird and forest-harp,

Borne on the soft wings of the evening gale,

Seem blended with a deep wail for the dead—

Alas! the wail is in our hearts.

Lost one!

We miss thee in our sadness and our joy!

When at the solemn eventide we stray,

’Mid the still gathering of the twilight shades,

To muse upon the dear and hallowed past

With its deep, mournful memories, a voice

Comes from the still recesses of our hearts

“She is not here!” In the gay, festive hour,

When music peals upon the perfumed air,

And wit and mirth are ringing in our ears,

And light forms floating round us in the dance,

And jewels flashing through luxuriant curls,

And deep tones breathing vows of tenderness

And truth to listening beauty, even then,

Amid the wild enchantments of the hour,

To many a heart the past comes back again,

And, as the fountain of its tears is stirred,

A voice comes sounding from its holiest depths,

“Alas! she is not here!” The spring-time now

Is forth upon the fresh green earth, the vales

Are one bright wilderness of blooms, the woods,

With all their wealth of rainbow tints, repose,

Like fairy clouds upon the vernal sky,

And every gale is burdened with the gush

Of music, free, wild music, yet, lost one,

Through all these wildering melodies, that voice

As from the very heart of nature comes,

“Alas! she is not here!” But list! oh, list!

From the eternal depths of yonder sky,

From where the flash of sun and star is dim

In uncreated light, an angel strain,

As sweet as that in which the morning stars

Together sang o’er the creation’s birth,

Comes floating downward through the ravished air,

“Joy! joy! she’s here! she’s here!”

’Tis midnight deep,

And a pale cloud, like that whose shadow fell

Upon our souls on that remembered eve,

Is passing o’er the moon, but now the shade

Falls on one heart alone. I am alone,

My dear and long-lost friend. Oh! wheresoe’er

In the vast universe of God thou art,

I pray thee stoop at this mysterious hour

To the dark earth from thy all radiant home,

And hold communion with thy weeping friend

As in the hours departed.

Ah, I feel,

Sweet spirit, thou hast heard and blessed my prayer!

I hear the rustling of thy angel-plumes

About me and around—the very air

Is glowing with a thousand seraph thoughts,

Bright as the sparkles of a shooting star—

A hand from which the electric fire of heaven

Seems flashing through my frame is clasped in mine—

Thy blessed voice, with its remembered tones

Softened to more than mortal melody,

Is thrilling through my heart, as ’twere the voice

Of the lost Pleiad calling from its place

In the eternal void—and our two souls

Blend once again as erst they used to blend—

The heavenly with the earthly!

Fare thee well!

Sweet spirit, fare thee well! the blessed words

That thou, this night, hast whispered to me here,

Above the mound that hides thy mortal form,

Will purify my soul, and strengthen me

To bear the ills and agonies of life,

And point me to an immortality

With thee in God’s own holy Paradise.