EXLIBRIS UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA 
 
 JOHN HENRY NASH LIBRARY 
 
 <$> SAN FRANCISCO 
 
 PRESENTED TO THE 
 
 UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA 
 
 ROBERT GORDON SPROUL, PRESIDENT. 
 
 MR.ANDMRS.MILTON S.RAV 
 
 CECILY, VIRGINIA AND ROSALYN RAY 
 
 RAY OIL BURNER COMPANY 
 
THAN A TO PS IS. 
 
G. P. PUTNAM S SONS! NEW YORK, 
 
THE ILLUSTRATIONS 
 
 - INDEBTEDNESS acknowledged to David Scott and 
 William Blake and (almost unknown as an artist) Isaac 
 Taylor, the author of The Natural History of Enthusiasm, 
 The Physical Theory of Another Life, etc. 
 
 Designed and engraved by \V. J. LlNTON. 
 
THANATOPSIS. 
 
 HT^O HIM who in the love of nature holds 
 -^- Communion with her visible forms, she 
 
 speaks 
 
 A various language ; for his gayer hours 
 She has a voice of gladness, and a smile 
 And eloquence of beauty, and she glides 
 Into his darker musings, with a mild 
 And healing sympathy, that steals away 
 Their sharpness, ere he is aware. When thoughts 
 
Under the open sky. 
 
Of the last bitter hour come like a blight 
 Over thy spirit, and sad images 
 Of the stern agony, and shroud, and pall, 
 And breathless darkness, and the narrow house, 
 Make thee to shudder, and grow sick at heart ; 
 Go forth, under the open sky, and list 
 To Nature's teachings, while from all around 
 Earth and her waters, and the depths of air- 
 Comes a still voice Yet a few days, and thee 
 The all-beholding sun shall see no more 
 In all his course ; nor yet in the cold ground, 
 
In the cold ground. 
 
Where thy pale form is laid, with many tears, 
 
 Nor in the embrace of ocean, shall exist 
 
 Thy image. Earth, that nourish'd thee, shall claim 
 
 Thy growth to be resolved to earth again, 
 
 And, lost each human trace, surrendering up 
 
 Thine individual being, shalt thou go 
 
 To mix forever with the elements, 
 
 To be a brother to the insensible rock, 
 
 And to the sluggish clod, which the rude swain 
 
 Turns with his share, and treads upon. The oak 
 
 Shall send his roots abroad, and pierce thy mould. 
 
Resolved to earth again. 
 
Yet not to thine eternal resting-place 
 Shalt thou retire alone nor couldst thou wish 
 Couch more magnificent. Thou shalt lie down 
 With patriarchs of the infant world with kings, 
 The powerful of the earth the wise, the good, 
 Fair forms, and hoary seers of ages past, 
 All in one mighty sepulchre. The hills 
 Rock-ribb'd, and ancient as the sun, the vales 
 Stretching in pensive quietness between ; 
 The venerable woods rivers that move 
 In majesty, and the complaining brooks 
 
(Unto dust shalt thou return. Gen. 3: 19.) 
 
That make the meadows green ; and, pour'd round 
 Old Ocean's grey and melancholy waste, [all, 
 Are but the solemn decorations all 
 Of the great tomb of man. The golden sun, 
 The planets, all the infinite host of heaven, 
 Are shining on the sad abodes of death, 
 Through the still lapse of ages. All that tread 
 The globe are but a handful to the tribes 
 That slumber in its bosom. Take the wings 
 Of morning, and the Barcan desert pierce, 
 Or lose thyself in the continuous woods 
 Where rolls the Oregon, and hears no sound 
 Save his own dashings yet the dead are there ; 
 
Old ocean's grey and melancholy -waste. 
 
Sgglg^J" '''i^ * . I* 
 
 And millions in those solitudes, since first 
 
 The flight of years began, have laid them down 
 
 In their last sleep the dead reign there alone. 
 
 So shalt thou rest, and what if thou withdraw 
 In silence from the living and no friend 
 Take note of thy departure ? All that breathe 
 Will share thy destiny. The gay will laugh 
 When thou art gone, the solemn brood of care 
 Plod on, and each one, as before, will chase 
 
The dead reign there. Exodus 12 : 30. 
 
His favorite phantom : yet all these shall leave 
 
 Their mirth and their employments, and shall come 
 
 And make their bed with thee. As the long train 
 
 Of ages glide away, the sons of men, 
 
 The youth in life's green spring, and he who goes 
 
 In the full strength of years, matron and maid, 
 
 The speechless babe, and the grey-headed man, 
 
 Shall one by one be gather'd to thy side, 
 
 By those who, in their turn, shall follow them. 
 
 So live, that when thy summons comes to join 
 The innumerable caravan, that moves 
 To that mysterious realm, where each shall take 
 His chamber in the silent halls of death, 
 
The Shadow of Death. 
 
Thou go not, like the quarry-slave at night 
 Scourged to his dungeon, but, sustain'd and soothed 
 By an unfaltering trust, approach thy grave, 
 Like one who draws the drapery of his couch 
 About him, and lies down to pleasant dreams. 
 
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