THE TOMB.
"So parted they: the angel up to Heaven,
And Adam to his bower."
Milton.
This is the parting place: this narrow house,
With its turf roof and marble door, where none
Have entered and returned. If earth's poor gold
Ere clave unto thee, here unlade thyself;
For thou didst bring none with thee to this world,
Nor may'st thou bear it hence. Honours hast thou,
Ambition's shadowy gathering? Shred them loose
To the four winds, their natural element.
Yea, more, thou must unclasp the living ties
Of strong affection. Hast thou nurtured babes?
And was each wailing from their feeble lip
A thorn to pierce thee? every infant smile
And budding hope a spring of ecstacy?
Turn, turn away, for thou henceforth to them
A parent art no more? Wert thou a wife?
And was the arm on which thy spirit leaned
Faithful in all thy need? Yet must thou leave
This fond protection, and pursue alone
Thy shuddering pathway down the vale of death.
Friendship's free intercourse—the promised joys
Of soul-implanted, soul-confiding love,
The cherished sympathies which every year
Struck some new root within thy yielding breast,
