DEAD LEAVES....Death. 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. From this vile world, with vilest worms to dwell. Shakspeare. Now shall my verse, Daniel. Hence, profane grim man! nor dare Habington. So doth the swiftly turning wheel not stand I' the instant we withdraw the moving hand, And so, whilst I cast on thy funeral pile Carew. Ah! thou hast left to live; and in the time At half that doth her bashful bosom close; So a sweet flower languishing decays, That late did blush when kissed by Phoebus' rays; So Phoebus mounting the meridian's height, Choked by pale Phoebe, 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 The banks she past, so that each neighbour field 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. MISTLETOE....I climb to greatness. The Mistletoe is a creeping plant which grows on the tops of the tallest trees. The proud oak is its slave, and nourishes it with his own substance. The Druids paid a kind of adoration to it, as the emblem of a weakness that was superior to strength: they regarded the tyrant of the oak as equally formidable to men and gods. 'Tis a common proof, That lowliness is young ambition's ladder, Shakspeare. He who ascends to mountain-tops shall find He who surpasses or subdues mankind Must look down on the hate of those below. Though high above the sun of glory glow, Contending tempests on his naked head, And thus reward the toils which to those summits led. Byron. Ye gods, it doth amaze me, A man of such a feeble temper should On the summit see, The seals of office glitter in his eyes; Shakspeare. He climbs,—he pants,—he grasps them. At his heels, Close at his heels, a demagogue ascends, And with a dexterous jerk soon twists him down, And wins them, but to lose them in his turn. If any man must fall for me to rise, Cowper. Then seek I not to rise. Another's pain A robe of honour is too poor a prize To tempt my hasty hand to do a wrong Unto a fellow man. This life hath wo Sufficient, wrought by man's satanic foe; And who that hath a heart would dare prolong Or add unto the sorrows of a soul That seeks some healing balm to make it whole? Who scorns a poor man in his poverty, MacKellar. |