Pocahontas and Other Poems (New York)/Death of a young Man devoted to Missions

by Lydia Huntley Sigourney

DEATH OF A YOUNG MAN DEVOTED TO MISSIONS.

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Thou wert a musing student o'er thy book
When first I saw thee. Yet the eagle's wing
Soar'd not more duly sunward, than thy mind
From cliff to cliff of knowledge urged its way,
Kindling and glorying at the proud pursuit.
A ripe, rare spirit wrought within thy form
Of boyish beauty.
                              Then thy glance grew deep,
Feeding on secret, solitary thought
With speechless joy. For thou didst hear that voice
From voiceless nature, in the wind that swept
Around thy student's chamber, in the stream
Freshening the foliage of yon college grove,
And in the whisper of the lone wild flower,
Which none but poets hear. Thy waking lyre,
Sweet son of song, won thee warm brotherhood
From many a loving heart.
                                             Yet not the realm
Of ancient learning, throng'd with classic shapes,
Nor rose-wreath'd poesy's enchanting bowers,
Contented thee.
                            Thy soul had higher aims,
And from Castalian waters meekly turn'd
To the pure rill that kiss'd the Saviour's feet:
And ever o'er its hour of lonely thought

Or deep devotion, China's millions stole,
Blind—wandering—lost.
                                           So, then, thou didst dismiss
The host of pleasant fancies, which so long
Had made thy pilgrimage a music strain,
And for the outcast heathen pledge thy life,
A diamond to the treasury of thy Lord.
Heaven took the pledge, yet not for weary years
Of toil, and pain, and age.
                                            There was a flush
On thy young cheek, a fire within thine eye,
A failing of the footstep, that was wont
To tread green earth so light and buoyantly,
A wasting of the half ethereal clay:
Heaven took the pledge, and thou art all its own.