SELECT POETRY,

Tuapeka Times, Volume III, Issue 169, 4 May 1871, Page 7

SELECT POETRY,

[The following poem {che author of which has ue^esrUbteen righttt asctf-tained) was a favoufttoSf the l*£ijj.sident Linooln'3 ; and Mr. F. B. (j\^e^pjfc| well-known painter of the "Emancipation l^oclarnation before the Cabinet," tells the following anecdote regarding it : — " I was with the President alone one evenin his room, daring the time I was painting my large picture at the White House, last year (1864). He presently threw aside his pen and papers, and began to talk to me of Shakespeare. He sent little 'Tad,' his son, to the library to bring a copy of the plays, and then read to me several of his favourite passages, showing genuine appreciation of the great poet. Relapsing into a sadder strain he laid the book aside, and, leaning back in his chair, said: — "There is a poem which has been a great favourite with me for years, which was first shown to me wrion a young man by a friend, and which I afterwards Haw and cut from a newspaper, and learned by heart. I would,' he continued, 'give a great deal to know who wrote it, but I have never been able to ascertain.' Then, half -closing his eyes, he repeated to me the following lines :— ] Oh, why should the spirit of mortal be proud ? Like a swift-fleetiog meteor, a fast-flying cloudLike a flash of the lightning, a sweep of the wave— filan passes from life to his reat in the grave. The leaves of the onk and the willow shall fade, Be scattered around, and together be laid ; And the young, and the old, and the low, and the high, Shall moulder to dust and together shall lie. The maid on whose face, in whose smiles, in whose eye Shone beauty and pleasure — her triumphs are by; And the mem'ry of those that loved her and praised Are alike from the minds of the living erased. Our youthful companions, whom we tenderly loyed. Are from our affections for ever removed ; Death numbers them now with the things that are past — They've fled like the snow-flake that whirled in the blast. The child that a mother delighted to rear, The mother that nourished that infant with care, The husband that infant and mother had blest. Each— all are away to their dwelling of rest. The hand of the king that the sceptre had borne, The brow of the priest, that the mitre had worn, The eye of the sage, and the heart of the brave — Are hidden and lest in the womb of thu grave. The warrior who waded through Wood for a name. The sailor that dared every danger for fame, The statesman that wielded t; country's doom— H.ave all passed away and are hid in the tomb. The peasant whose trade waa to sow and to rpap, TJie herdsman that climbel with Ms goats to the steep, The beggar that wandered in search of his bread — 'They have faded away like the grass that we tread. The saint that enjoyed the communion of heaven, The. sinner that dared to remain unfovgiven, The wise and the foolish, the guilty and justHave quietly mingled their bones in the dust. So the multitude goes, like the flower and the weed That wither away to let others succeed ; So the multitude comes— even those we beholdTo repeat every tale that hath often been told. For we are the same that our fathers have been, Wo see the same sights tha t our fathers have seen, We drink the same stream, and we feel the same sun. . "»d we run the sam 9 course that our fathers ■"^^liavo run. The thoughts we are thinking our fathers would think, From the death we are shrinking they too would shrink, To the life we are clinging they too would cling, But it speeds from the earth like a bird on the wing. They loved— but their hisi-ory we cannot untold; They scorned— but the heart of the haughty is cold ; They grieved- but no wail from their slumbers may come ; They joyed— but the voice of their triumph is dumb. They died— aye, they died ! and we who are now Who walk on the grass that grows over iLeir brow, Who make in their dwellings a transient abode — Meet the changes they mat on their pi'.grimageroad. jPor hope and despondency, pleasure and pain, Are mingled together like sunshine and rain ; And the smile, and the tear, and the song, and the dirge ! They follow each other like surge upon surge. 'Tis the wink of an eye, 'tis the draught of a breath. From the blossom of health to the paleness of death— From the gilded saloon to the bier and the shroud. Oh, why should the spirit of mortal be proud ?