Page:Poetical works of William Cullen Bryant (IA poeticalworksof00brya).pdf/205

Rh Thine for a space are they— Yet shalt thou yield thy treasures up at last: Thy gates shall yet give way, The bolts shall fall, inexorable Past!

All that of good and fair Has gone into thy womb from earliest time, Shall then come forth to wear The glory and the beauty of its prime.

They have not perished—no! Kind words, remembered voices once so sweet, Smiles, radiant long ago, And features, the great soul's apparent seat.

All shall come back; each tie Of pure affection shall be knit again; Alone shall Evil die, And Sorrow dwell a prisoner in thy reign.

And then shall I behold Him, by whose kind paternal side I sprung, And her, who, still and cold, Fills the next grave—the beautiful and young.