The cheering smile,
the voice of mirth
And laughter’s
gay surprise
That please the children
born of earth,
Why deem that Heaven
denies?
Methinks in that refulgent
sphere
That knows not sun or
moon,
An earth-born saint
might long to hear
One verse of “Bonny
Doon”;
Or walking through the
streets of gold
In Heaven’s unclouded
light,
His lips recall the
song of old
And hum “The sky
is bright.”
And can we smile when
thou art dead?
Ah, brothers, even so!
The rose of summer will
be red,
In spite of winter’s
snow.
Thou wouldst not leave
us all in gloom
Because thy song is
still,
Nor blight the banquet-garland’s
bloom
With grief’s untimely
chill.
The sighing wintry winds
complain,
The singing bird has
flown,
—Hark! heard I
not that ringing strain,
That clear celestial
tone?
How poor these pallid
phrases seem,
How weak this tinkling
line,
As warbles through my
waking dream
That angel voice of
thine!
Thy requiem asks a sweeter
lay;
It falters on my tongue;
For all we vainly strive
to say,
Thou shouldst thyself
have sung!
V
I fear that I have done injustice in my conversation and my report of it to a most worthy and promising young man whom I should be very sorry to injure in any way. Dr. Benjamin Franklin got hold of my account of my visit to him, and complained that I had made too much of the expression he used. He did not mean to say that he thought I was suffering from the rare disease he mentioned, but only that the color reminded him of it. It was true that he had shown me various instruments, among them one for exploring the state of a part by means of a puncture, but he did not propose to make use of it upon my person. In short, I had colored the story so as to make him look ridiculous.
—I am afraid I did,—I said,—but was n’t I colored myself so as to look ridiculous? I’ve heard it said that people with the jaundice see everything yellow; perhaps I saw things looking a little queerly, with that black and blue spot I could n’t account for threatening to make a colored man and brother of me. But I am sorry if I have done you any wrong. I hope you won’t lose any patients by my making a little fun of your meters and scopes and contrivances. They seem so odd to us outside people. Then the idea of being bronzed all over was such an alarming suggestion. But I did not mean to damage your business, which I trust is now considerable, and I shall certainly come to you again if I have need of the services of a physician. Only don’t mention the names of any diseases in English or Latin before me next time. I dreamed about cutis oenea half the night after I came to see you.