The crowd, of which thou late wert one, Now throng'd across thy burial-stone ; Rude footsteps trampled on the spot, Where thou lay'st mould'ring and forgot; And some few gentler bosoms wept, In silence, where my brother slept.
I stood not by thy fev'rish bed, I look'd not on thy glazing eye, Nor gently lull'd thy aching head, Nor view'd thy dying agony : I felt not what my parents felt,
The doubt the terror-the distress- Nor vainly for my brother knelt
My soul was spar'd that wretchedness. One sentence told me, in a breath, My brother's illness-and his death!
And days of mourning glided by, And brought me back my gaiety; For soon in childhood's wayward heart Doth crush'd affection cease to smart. Again I join'd the sportive crowd Of boyish playmates, wild and loud; I learnt to view with careless eye My sable garb of misery; No more I wept my brother's lot, His image was almost forgot; And ev'ry deeper shade of pain Had vanish'd from my soul again.
The well-known morn, I used to greet
With boyhood's joy, at length was beaming,
And thoughts of home and raptures sweet In ev'ry eye, but mine, were gleaming; But I, amidst that youthful band
Of beating hearts and beaming eyes, Nor smil❜d nor spoke at joy's command, Nor felt those wonted ecstasies : I lov'd my home-but trembled now To view my father's alter'd brow; I fear'd to meet my mother's eye, And hear her voice of agony; I fear'd to view my native spot, Where he who lov'd it-now was not. The pleasures of my home were fled- My brother slumber'd with the dead.
I drew near to my father's gate— No smiling faces met me now- I enter'd-all was desolate-
Grief sat upon my mother's brow: I heard her, as she kiss'd me, sigh; A tear stood in my father's eye; My little brothers round me prest, In gay unthinking childhood blest. Long, long that hour has past, but when Shall I forget its mournful scene?
The Sabbath came-with mournful pace I sought my brother's burial place— That shrine, which when I last had view'd, In vigour by my side he stood.
I gaz'd around with fearful eye
All things reposed in sanctity.
I reach'd the chancel-nought was chang'd
The altar decently arrang'd—
The pure white cloth above the shrine- The consecrated bread and wine- All was the same-I found no trace Of sorrow in that holy place.
One hurried glance I downward gave- My foot was on my brother's grave!
And years have past-and thou art now Forgotten in thy silent tomb-
And cheerful is my mother's brow, My father's eye has lost its gloom, And years have past-and death has laid Another victim by thy side;
With thee he roams, an infant shade, But not more pure than thee he died. Blest are ye both! your ashes rest Beside the spot ye lov'd the best; And that dear home, which saw your birth, O'erlooks you in your bed of earth. But who can tell what blissful shore Your angel-spirits wander o'er ? And who can tell what raptures high Now bless your immortality!
My boyish days are nearly gone,
My breast is not unsullied now; And worldly cares and woes will soon Cut their deep furrows on my brow- And life will take a darker hue
From ills my Brother never knew.
And I have made me bosom friends,
And lov'd and link'd my heart with others;
But who with mine his spirit blends,
As mine was blended with my brother's!
When years of rapture glided by,
The spring of life's unclouded weather, Our souls were knit, and thou and I,
My brother, grew in love together.
The chain is broke which bound us then- When shall I find it's like again?
KNIGHT AND DREDGE, CASTLE-STREET.
SOLD ALSO BY MR. WILLIAMS, AND MR. INGALTON, ETON; AND BY MR. WARREN, 19, OLD BOND-STREET, LONDon.
CHARLES KNIGHT, PRINTER, CASTLE-STREET, WINDSOR,
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