Spirits of the Dead

                  I
Thy soul shall find itself alone
'Mid dark thoughts of the grey tomb-stone-
Not one, of all the crowd, to pry
Inot thine hour of secrecy:

                  II
Be silent in that solitude,
   Which is not loneliness-for then
The spirits of the dead who stood
    In life before thee, are again
In death around thee- and their will
Shall overshadow thee: be still.

                  III
The night- tho' clear- shall frown-
And the stars shall look not down,
From their high thrones in the heaven,
With light like Hope to mortals given-

But their red orbs, without beam,
To thy weariness shall seem
As a burning and a fever
Which would cling to thee for ever.

                  IV
Now are thoughts thou shalt not banish-
Now are visions ne'er to vanish-
From thy spirit shall they pass
No more- like dew-drops from the grass.

                   V
The breeze- the breath of God- is still-
And the mist upon the hill
Shadowy- shadowy- yet unbroken,
Is a symbol and a token-
How it hangs upon the trees,
A mystery of mysteries!-