eral of his best works were written while traveling. He returned home in 1833. "The Prairie," from which the above touching and effective scene was taken, the first of his works written in Europe, published in 1827, was one of the most successful of the novelist's productions. His writings throughout are distinguished by purity and brilliancy of no common merit. He was alike remarkable for his fine commanding person, his manly, resolute, independent nature, and his noble, generous heart. He died at Cooperstown, September 14, 1851.

VI.

134. ELEGY IN A COUNTRY CHURCH-YARD.

HE curfew tōlls the knell of parting day,

THE

The lowing herd winds slowly o'er the lea,
The plowman homeward plods his weary way,

And leaves the world to darknèss and to me.

2. Now fades the glimmering landscape on the sight,
And all the air a solemn stillness holds,
Save where the beetle wheels his droning flight,
And drowsy tinklings lull the distant folds;

3. Save that from yonder ivy-mantled tower

The moping owl does to the moon complain
Of such as, wandering near her secret bower,
Molest her ancient solitary reign.

4. Beneath those rugged elms, that yew-tree's shade,
Where heaves the turf in many a moldering heap,
Each in his narrow cell forever laid,

The rude forefathers of the hamlet sleep.

5. The breezy call of incense-breathing morn,

The swallow twittering from the straw-built shed,
The cock's shrill clarion, or the echoing horn,

No more shall rouse them from their lowly bed.
6. For them no more the blazing hearth shall burn,
Or busy housewife ply her evening care;
No children run to lisp their sire's return,
Or climb his knees, the envied kiss to share.

7. Oft did the harvest to their sickle yield,

Their furrow oft the stubborn glebe has broke :
How jocund did they drive their team ǎfield!

How bowed the woods beneath their sturdy stroke

8. Let not Ambition mock their useful toil,

Their homely joys, and destiny obscure;
Nor Grandeur hear, with a disdainful smile,
The short and simple annals of the poor.
9. The boast of heraldry, the pomp of power,
And all that beauty, all that wealth, e'er gave,
Await alike th' inevitable hour:

The paths of glory lead but to the grave. 10. Nor you, ye proud, impute to these the fault,

If Memory o'er their tomb no trophies raise,
Where through the long-drawn aisle and fretted vault
The pealing anthem swells the note of praise.

11. Can storied urn, or animated bust,

Back to its mansion call the fleeting breath?
Can Honor's voice provoke the silent dust,
Or Flattery soothe the dull, cold ear of death?

12. Perhaps in this neglected spot is laid

Some heart once pregnant with celestial fire;
Hands that the rod of empire might have swayed,
Or waked to ecstasy the living lyre:

13. But Knowledge to their eyes her ample page,
Rich with the spoils of time, did ne'er unroll;
Chill Penury repressed their noble rage,

And froze the genial current of the soul.

14. Full many a gem, of purèst ray serene,

The dark, unfathomed caves of ocean bear;
Full many a flower is born to blush unseen,

And waste its sweetness on the desert air.
15. Some village Hampden, that with dauntless breast
The little tyrant of his fields withstood,—
Some mute, inglorious Milton,-here may rest;
Some Cromwell, guiltless of his country's blood.
16. Th' applause of listening senates to command,
The threats of pain and ruin to despise,
To scatter plenty o'er a smiling land,

And read their history in a nation's eyes,

17. Their lot forbåde: nor circumscribed alone

Their growing virtues, but their crimes confined;

Forbade to wade through slaughter to a throne,
And shut the gates of mercy on mankind;
18. The struggling pangs of conscious truth to hide,
To quench the blushes of ingenuous shame,
Or heap the shrine of luxury and pride

With incense kindled at the Muse's flame.
19. Far from the maddening crowd's ignoble strife,
Their sober wishes never learned to stray;
Along the cool, sequestered vale of life

They kept the noiseless tenor of their way.

20. Yet e'en these bones from insult to protect,
Some frail memorial still erected nigh,

With uncouth rhymes and shapeless sculpture decked,
Implores the passing tribute of a sigh.

21. Their name, their years, spelt by th' unlettered Muse, The place of fame and elegy supply;

And many a holy text around she strews,
That teach the rustic moralist to die.

22. For who, to dumb forgetfulness a prey,

This pleasing, anxious being e'er resigned,
Left the warm precincts of the cheerful day,

Nor cast one longing, lingering look behind? 23. On some fond breast the parting soul relies, Some pious drops the closing eye requires; E'en from the tomb the voice of nature cries, E'en in our ashes live their wonted (wunt'ed) fires. 24. For thee, who, mindful of th' unhonored dead, Dost in these lines their artless tale relate, If 'chance, by lonely contemplation led, Some kindred spirit shall inquire thy fate,25. Haply some hoary-headed swain may say,

"Oft have we seen him at the peep of dawn,
Brushing with hasty steps the dews away,

To meet the sun upon the upland lawn.
26. "There, at the foot of yonder nodding beech,
That wreathes its old fantastic roots so high,
His listless length at noontide would he stretch,
And pōre upon the brook that babbles by.

27. "Hard by yon wood, now smiling as in scorn, Muttering his wayward fancies, would he rove, Now drooping, woful-wan, like one forlorn,

Or crazed with care, or crossed in hopeless love. 28. "One morn I missed him on the customed hill, Along the heath, and near his favorite tree: Another came,-nor yet beside the rill,

Nor

up the lawn, nor at the wood, was he : 29. "The next, with dirges due, in sad array,

Slow through the churchway path we saw him bōrne;
Approach and read (for thou canst read) the lay
Graved on the stōne beneath yon agèd thorn.”

THE EPITAPH.

HERE RESTS HIS HEAD UPON THE LAP OF EARTH,
A YOUTH TO FORTUNE AND TO FAME UNKNOWN:
FAIR SCIENCE FROWNED NOT ON HIS HUMBLE BIRTH,
AND MELANCHOLY MARKED HIM FOR HER OWN.
LARGE WAS HIS BOUNTY, AND HIS SOUL SINCERE,
HEAVEN DID A RECOMPENSE AS LARGELY SEND :
HE GAVE TO MISERY-ALL HE HAD-A TEAR,

HE GAINED FROM HEAVEN ('TWAS ALL HE WISHED) A FRIEND.

NO FURTHER SEEK HIS MERITS TO DISCLOSE,

OR DRAW HIS FRAILTIES FROM THEIR DREAD ABODE,

(THERE THEY ALIKE IN TREMBLING HOPE REPOSE,)

THE BOSOM OF HIS FATHER AND HIS GOD.

GRAY.

SECTION XXV.

I.

135. THE PHANTOM SHIP.

1.

HE breeze had sunk to rest, the noonday sun was high,

TH

And ocean's breast lay motionlèss beneath a cloudless sky, There was silence in the air, there was silence in the deep; And it seemed as though that burning calm were nature's final

sleep.

2.

The mid-day watch was set, beneath the blaze of light, When there came a cry from the tall mast-head, "A sail! a sail, in sight!"

And o'er the far horizon a snowy speck appeared,

And every eye was strained to watch the vessel as she neared.

3.

There was no breath of air, yet she bounded on her way,
And the dancing waves around her prow were flashing into spray.
She answered not their hail, alongside as she passed:

There were none who trod her spacious deck; not a seaman on the mast;

4.

No hand to guide her helm: yet on she held her course;
She swept along that waveless sea, as with a tempest's fōrce :

A silence, as of death, was o'er that vessel spread

She seemed a thing of another world, the world where dwell the dead.

5.

She passed away from sight, the deadly calm was o'er,

And the spell-bound ship pursued her course befōre the breeze once more;

And clouds across the sky obscured the noonday sun,

And the winds arose at the tempest's call, before the day was done.

6.

Midnight—and still the storm raged wrathfully and loud, And deep in the trough of the heaving sea labored that vessel proud:

There was darkness all around, save where lightning flashes keen Played on the crests of the broken waves, and lit the depths between.

7.

Around her and below, the waste of waters roared,

And answered the crash of the falling masts as they cast them overboard.

At every billow's shock her quivering timbers strain;

And as she rose on a crested wave, that strange ship passed again.