In the afternoon, they brought him home, and laid him in his library. A terrific storm burst over the river and crashed among the hills, and the wild sympathy of nature surrounded that blasted home. But its master lay serene in the peace of the last prayer he uttered. Loving hands had woven garlands of the fragrant blossoms of the Cape jessamine, the sweet clematis, and the royal roses he loved so well. The next morning was calm and bright, and he was laid in the graveyard, where his father and mother lie. The quiet Fishkill mountains, that won the love of the shy boy in the garden, now watch the grave of the man, who was buried, not yet thirty-seven years old, but with great duties done in this world, and with firm faith in the divine goodness.
"Unwatch'd, the garden bough shall sway, The tender blossom flutter down, Unloved, that beech will gather brown, This maple burn itself away;
"Unloved, the sun-flower, shining fair,
Ray round with flame her disk of seed, And many a rose-carnation feed With summer spice the humming air.
"Unloved, by many a sandy bar,
The brook shall babble down the plain, At noon, or when the lesser wain Is twisting round the polar star;
"Uncared for, gird the windy grove,
And flood the haunts of hern and crake; Or into silver arrows break, The sailing moon in creek and cove;
"Till from the garden and the wild, A fresh association blow, And year by year, the landscape grow Familiar to the stranger's child;
"As, year by year, the laborer tills,
His wonted glebe, or lops the glades; And year by year our memory fades From all the circle of the hills".