Rousseau’s grave, how dear thou art to me
Calm repose be to thy ashes blest!
In thy life thou vainly sought’st for rest,
But at length ’twas here obtained by thee!
When will ancient wounds be covered o’er?
Wise men died in heathen days of yore;
Now ’tis lighter–yet they die again.
Socrates was killed by sophists vile,
Rousseau meets his death through Christians’ wile,–
Rousseau–who would fain make Christians men!
Held in thy mother’s arms above life’s dark and troubled wave,Thou lookest with thy fearless smile upon the floating grave.Play, loveliest innocence!–Thee yet Arcadia circles round,A charmed power for thee has set the lists of fairy ground;Each gleesome impulse Nature now can sanction and befriend,Nor to that willing heart as yet the duty and the…
That a race once lived of nobler worth;And if ancient chronicles were dumb,Countless stones in witness forth would comeFrom the deepest entrails of the earth.But this highly-favored race has gone,Gone forever to the realms of night.We, we live! The moments are our own,And the living judge the right.Brighter zones, my friends, no doubt excelThis, the…
Yet ever–ever to the West, for there the coast must lie,And dim it dawns, and glimmering dawns before thy reason’s eye;Yea, trust the guiding God–and go along the floating grave,Though hid till now–yet now behold the New World o’er the wave!With genius Nature ever stands in solemn union still,And ever what the one foretells the…
With gleesome play to cheer the path, the one comes blithe with beauty,And lighter, leaning on her arm, the destiny and duty.With jest and sweet discourse she goes unto the rock sublime,Where halts above the eternal sea the shuddering child of time.The other here, resolved and mute and solemn, claspeth thee,And bears thee in her…
