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Death of the Nature-Lover

per.00153.001 1


Not in a gorgeous hall of pride Where tears fall thick, and loved ones sigh, Wished he, when the dark hour approached To drop his veil of flesh, and die. Amid the thundercrash of strife, Where hovers War's ensanguined cloud, And bright swords flash and banners fly Above the wounds, and groans, and blood. Not there—not there! Death's look he'd cast Around a furious tiger's den, Rather than in the monstrous sight Of the red butcheries of men. Days speed: the time for that last look Upon this glorious earth has come: The Power he served so well vouchsafes The sun to shine, the flowers to bloom. Just ere the closing of the day, His fainting limbs he needs will have Borne out into the fresh free air, Where sweet shrubs grow, and proud trees wave. At distance, o'er the pleasant fields, A bay by misty vapors curled, He gazes on, and thinks the haven For which to leave a grosser world. He sorrows not, but smiles content, Dying there in that fragrant place, Gazing on blossom, field, and bay, As on their Maker's very face. The cloud-arch bending overhead, There, at the setting of the sun He bids adieu to earth, and steps Down to the World Unknown.


1. The following wants but a half hour's polish to make of it an effusion of very uncommon beauty.—ED. [back]

2. An earlier version of this poem entitled "My Departure" appeared in the Long Island Democrat, 23 October 1839. [back]

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