To hear thee tell thy foreign wanderings o'er,
By Tweed's green shores, and down the golden Rhine;
They hoped to hear their youthful preacher raise
His suppliant voice within the house of prayer,
And lead unto their God the erring sinners there.
I lately mused beside thy peaceful grave,
In Auburn's sweet and consecrated shades;
'T was Autumn, and a mellow sunset cast
Its trembling smile along the golden woods,
And silence waved her tranquillizing wing.
There rose the beech-tree in its dying pomp,
The maple and the sumach clad in gold,
The sycamore, in princely garments drest,
And the pale silvery birch, kissed by the glowing west.
As there I mused, methought how fit a spot
To rest, when life's brief fitful fever ends!
There can the living stand with chastened minds,
And, in the vast cathedral of the woods,
Pour forth their sorrows o'er the dead around.
As the dry leaves fell thickly round my feet,
They seemed fit emblems of man's dying lot;
And solemn thought of mortal's common doom
Sank deeply in my heart, beside man's silent tomb!
As long I traced the tablet o'er thee raised,
The big tear came unbidden to mine eye,
And thoughts of other times swept o'er my mind,
I thought, dear Henry, of our boyish years,
When life to us seemed all a merry day,
--One round of joy, from morn till closing eve.
Youth's rosy bloom, and childhood's gay delight,
Each careless ramble, and each rural sport,
Thronged in successive crowds, in memory's busy court!
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