 [A second poem has been added below.] W0390 POEM by Susan PorterMay 30 1826 To: [Dr.] Calvin McQuesten, From: Bradford Academy, Bradford, Massachusetts, [U.S.A.] Hark what is that note So mournful and slow; That sends on the winds The tidings of woe? It seem'd like a knell, Of a spirit that's fled; It tells us alas! A Brother is dead. Yea's gone to the grave, Is he whom I loved; And lifeless the form That manfully moved. The clod of the valley Encompass his head; The marble reminds me A Brother is dead. But ye spirits of air, Oh! speake ye and tell! The place where the soul Is destined to dwell. Oh say, have ye heard In that heavenly throng The voice once with us Commingled in song? Oh! say to the courts of Our God have ye led, The soul, that from earth Forever has fled! No voice from the Grave, No voice from the sky Dissolves the deeds, That are doing on high. It needs not Jehovah Has said in his word, That Blessed are they Who die in the Lord. [Written on a separate page, same paper, same handwriting as W0390:] [Untitled] That which here slumber waste confinedShall now my joyful temples find No monarch but would give his crown His arms might do as this has done. My joy my grief my hope my love Did all within this circle move A narrow compass! and yet there Dwells all that's good and all that's fair. Give but what this ribband bound Take all the rest the Sun goes round. [Written at bottom of page:] "Composition" |
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Copyright 2002 Whitehern Historic House and Garden
The development of this website was directed by Mary Anderson, Ph.D. and Janelle Baldwin, M.A.
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This digital collection was produced with financial assistance from Canada's Digital Collections initiative, Industry Canada. |