THE MESSAGE TO THE DEAD.1 THOU'RT passing hence, my brother! And from the hills, and from the hearth, But thou, my friend, my brother! Thou'rt speeding to the shore Where the dirge-like tone of parting words Tell, then, our friend of boyhood, On the blue mountains, whence his youth "Messages from the living to the dead are not uncommon in the Highlands. The Gael have such a ceaseless consciousness of immortality, that their departed friends are considered as merely absent for a time, and permitted to relieve the hours of separation by occasional intercourse with the objects of their earliest affections."-See the notes to Mrs. Brunton's Works. MESSAGE TO THE DEAD. The light of his exulting brow, The visions of his glee, Are on me still-Oh! still I trust And tell our fair young sister, The rose cut down in spring, That yet my gushing soul is fill'd With lays she loved to sing, Her soft, deep eyes look through my dreams, Tell her my heart within me burns And tell our white-hair'd father, And tell our gentle mother, Our good and bright will see!— 7 73 THE TWO HOMES. Oh! if the soul immortal be, Is not its love immortal too? SEEST thou my home?'t is where yon woods are waving, In their dark richness, to the summer air; Where yon blue stream, a thousand flower-banks laving, Leads down the hills a vein of light,-'tis there! 'Midst those green wilds how many a fount lies gleaming, Fringed with the violet, colour'd with the skies! My boyhood's haunt, through days of summer dream ing, Under young leaves that shook with melodies. My home! the spirit of its love is breathing There am I loved-there pray'd for-there my mother Sits by the hearth with meekly thoughtful eye; There my young sisters watch to greet their brother -Soon their glad footsteps down the path will fly. THE TWO HOMES. 75 There, in sweet strains of kindred music blending, Ask'st thou of mine?-In solemn peace 'tis lying, Ask where the earth's departed have their dwelling! And what is home, and where, but with the loving? Go to thy home, rejoicing son and brother! THE SOLDIER'S DEATH-BED. Wie herrlich die Sonne dort untergeht! da ich noch ein Bube warwar's mein Lieblingsgedanke, wie sie zu leben, wie sie zu sterben! Die Rauber. Like thee to die, thou sun! - My boyhood's dream Some voice, to speak of hope and brighter days, I, that have been so loved, go hence alone; Though clouds are darkening to o'ercast its mirth. |