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1818
THE BURIAL-PLACE
A FRAGMENT
by William Cullen Bryant
THE BURIAL-PLACE
A FRAGMENT -
Erewhileon England's pleasant shoresour sires
Left not their churchyards unadorned with shades
Or blossomsbut indulgent to the strong
And natural dread of man's last homethe grave
Its frost and silence- they disposed around
To soothe the melancholy spirit that dwelt
Too sadly on life's closethe forms and hues
Of vegetable beauty. There the yew
Green ever amid the snows of wintertold
Of immortalityand gracefully
The willowa perpetual mournerdrooped;
And there the gadding woodbine crept about
And there the ancient ivy. From the spot
Where the sweet maidenin her blossoming years
Cut offwas laid with streaming eyesand hands
That trembled as they placed her therethe rose
Sprung modeston bowed stalkand better spoke
Her gracesthan the proudest monument.
There children set about their playmate's grave
The pansy. On the infant's little bed
Wet at its planting with maternal tears
Emblem of early sweetnessearly death
Nestled the lowly primrose. Childless dames
And maids that would not raise the reddened eye-
Orphansfrom whose young lids the light of joy
Fled early- silent loverswho had given
All that they lived for to the arms of earth
Came ofteno'er the recent graves to strew
Their offeringsrueand rosemaryand flowers. -
The pilgrim bands who passed the sea to keep
Their Sabbaths in the eye of God alone
In his wide temple of the wilderness
Brought not these simple customs of the heart
With them. It might bewhile they laid their dead
By the vast solemn skirts of the old groves
And the fresh virgin soil poured forth strange flowers
About their graves; and the familiar shades
Of their own native isleand wonted blooms
And herbs were wantingwhich the pious hand
Might plant or scatter therethese gentle rites
Passed out of use. Now they are scarcely known
And rarely in our borders may you meet
The tall larchsighing in the burial-place
Or willowtraining low its boughs to hide
The gleaming marble. Naked rows of graves
And melancholy ranks of monuments
Are seen insteadwhere the coarse grassbetween
Shoots up its dull green spikesand in the wind
Hissesand the neglected bramble nigh
Offers its berries to the schoolboy's hand
In vain- they grow too near the dead. Yet here
Naturerebuking the neglect of man
Plants Oftenby the ancient mossy stone
The brier-roseand upon the broken turf
That clothes the fresher gravethe strawberry plant
Sprinkles its swell with blossomsand lays forth
Her ruddypouting fruit.... - -
THE END