Dead Leaves.... Death.
Reading edition
A more appropriate emblem of death than the remains of the forest’s refreshing verdure could not be selected. Withered by the chill breath of ruthless Winter, the leaves strew the earth; and, in time, mingle with the dust, like ourselves. The eye cannot help watching how the winds pursue, scatter, whirl, and drive these remnants of departed life.
No longer mourn for me when I am dead. Then you shall hear the surly, sullen bell Give warning to the world that I am fled From this vile world, with vilest worms to dwell. Nay, if you read this line, remember not The hand that writ it, for I love you so, That I in your sweet thoughts would be forgot, If thinking of me then should work you wo! Shakspeare.
Now shall my verse, which thou in life didst grace, Not leave thee in the grave, that ugly place, That few regard, or have respect unto: Where all attendance and observance ends; Where all the sunshine of our favour sets; Where what was ill no countenance defends, And what was good the unthankful world forgets. Daniel.
Hence, profane grim man! nor dare To approach so neere my faire. Marble vaults, and gloomy caves, Church-yards, charnell-houses, graves, Where the living loath to be, Heaven hath designed to thee. But if needs ’mongst us thou’lt rage, Let thy fury feed on age. Habington.
So doth the swiftly turning wheel not stand I’ the instant we withdraw the moving hand, But some short time retains a faint, weak course, By virtue of the first impulsive force; And so, whilst I cast on thy funeral pile Thy crown of bays, oh let it crack awhile, And spit disdain, till the devouring flashes Suck all the moisture up, then turn to ashes. Carew.
Ah! thou hast left to live; and in the time When scarce thou blossom’dst in thy pleasant prime: So falls by northern blast a virgin rose, At half that doth her bashful bosom close; So a sweet flower languishing decays, That late did blush when kissed by Phœbus’ rays; So Phœbus mounting the meridian’s height, Choked by pale Phœbe faints unto our sight; Astonished Nature sullen stands to see The life of all this all so changed to be; In gloomy gowns the stars this loss deplore, The sea with murmuring mountains beats the shore. Drummond.
Death is the crown of life: Were death denied, poor men would live in vain; Were death denied, to live would not be life: Were death denied, even fools would wish to die. Young.
Death is the sea, and we like rivers flow To lose our selves in the insatiate maine, Whence rivers may, she ne’er returne againe. Nor grieve this christall streame so soone did fall Into the ocean; since shee perfumed all The banks she past, so that each neighbour field Did sweete flowers cherish by her watring, yeeld, Which now adorne her herse. Habington.
We bore him to the grave while yet ’twas morn, The winter sunlight shining on his coffin: The weight of grief was heavy to be borne, And the salt tears rose in our eyelids often. We slowly walked in mutely sad procession; The pitying people freely made us way; And the blest child, yet guiltless of transgression, We softly placed between the walls of clay. We sang a hymn—we bowed our heads to pray; And God, who had our bitter grief appointed, Sent also strengthening grace by lips anointed. We looked again on George as low he lay Deep in the earth; and when we homeward went, We felt his home was better ’yond the firmament. MacKellar.