ON THE DEATH OF A VERY INTIMATE FRIEND, A
YOUNG SURGEON, WHO DIED FROM FEVER, AFTER
ATTENDING A PATIENT.
'Tis sad indeed to chant a dirge of gloom--
To weave the cypress for a youthful brow:
To moan a requiem o'er an early tomb,
And sing in sorrow as I'm singing now.
While men raise mausoleums to die brave--
With flimsy flatt'ries gilded tombs besmear--
We need no banner o'er our Brother's grave
To tell what wealth of worth lies buried there.
Gone! and the word re-echoes with a sound
Mournful as muffled bells upon the wind;
Sad in its influence on all around--
Telling of griefs that still remain behind.
A thousand hearts may throb with tender swell--
Though every soul in deepest sorrow grieves,
How much he was beloved they only tell;
But who shall gauge the yawning breach he leaves?
Dark is the social world in which he moved--
Lending his aid unmindful of the cost.
Stilled is the heart the sternest 'mongst us loved;
Dim is the lustrous jewel we have lost.
For souls like his, so tender and so great,
Are pearls that stud the earth like stars the sky:
Above--the password at celestial gate;
Below--the germ of immortality.
Gone! Just as life was breaking, full of hope--
Clothed in the gorgeous beauty of its morn;
Free in Ambition's ever-widening scope,
A pictured prospect exquisitely drawn.
As void of self as angels are of sin,
What sweet anticipations stirred his brain:
What heights for others would he strive to win;
What little for himself he'd seek to gain.
But while the world was bathed in golden light;
While beauty breathed from every opening flower;
While streamlets danced along with gay delight;
While mellow music filled each songful bower;
With heart-warm friends whose love ran brimming o'er
For him who, full of life, stood with them then;
In such an hour Death led him from the shore;
And gone the worth we ne'er may know again.