THE WANDERER'S GRAVE.

Southland Times, Issue 661, 24 April 1867, Page 3

THE WANDERER'S GRAVE.

From "Churchyard Monodies," By John G. Smith. In yonder nook of the old Churchyard, " Where a lonely willow weepethj .'."•. Where love no simple stone has reared, ' To tell that beneath the verdant sward A weary wanderer sleepeth. He left his home, his cottage home, And sunny glades of childhood j The hills and vales, and streams that roam, With murm'ring din, and eddying foam, Thro' maze oi tangled wild wood. He left without a tear or sigh His land renowned in story, With hope deep mirrored in his eye, . Aoid youth's fond bosom bounding high, *' To toil for fame and glory. He strove to gain a hero's grave, By many a lake and river $ And shores where stately palm-trees wave, And wild siroccos madly rave, And high bananas quiver. He could not rest his aching head Upon a stranger's pillow, And longed, when lifes's young dream had fled, To sleep beside his kindred dead, .-Beneath the weeping willow. With Honor's scars he came again From many a scene of danger — From many a fierce and bloody plain, Where life-drops fell like drops of rain —■ A weary, homeless stranger. He sought the deli, the wildwood bowers, The cot beside the river, The sharers of his blissful hours, When all was Ught, and love and flowers, Forgotten by him never. But they were gone —they all were gone, To the dust of death before him ; He heard no welcome's gladdening tone, No smuling faces round him shone, And grief came shadowing o'er him. Oh! there's a grief too deep for tears, Which wealth can never borrow," And loves, and hopes, and doubts, and fears, • May Bleep in the tomb of the heart for years, Embalmed in the silence of sorrow. And there's a grief that smitetb down, Like the bolt of Heaven's thunder; When hope has dashed her jewelled crown, Before despair's wild maddening frown, And the heart is rent asunder. He could not Uve in the world alone, And all things drear around him; . Beside his father's moss gray stone', All unlainented and unknown, The village maidens found him. And here he sleeps with his kindred clay, In the Churchyard old and hoary, Till the dawmng of that dreadful day, When Heaven and earth shall pass away,' And saints will awake in glory.