I know a hill with a breast of flowers
Where the swallows play in the summer hours,
Where the grasshopper chirps and the wild bee hums,
And the low of the cattle in the cool air comes,
And the soft winds breathe with a whispering sigh
From the skirt of the lofty woodland, nigh.
There the cheerful sound of the streamlet rings
As it flows from the springs;
The strawberry blossoms in May’s dew there,
And ripens its fruit in the summer air;
And the grey squirrel darts in the beechen wood
As it gathers the nuts for its winter food.
‘Tis a spot where the daylight stays late
And earliest comes with its crimson rays,
And life is above where the light winds go,
But the dead are asleep in the earth below.
There are shrubs and wild briars springing round,
And I know by the stones and the swell of the ground.Where the friends that have gone before me lie,
Each one with his feet toward the eastern sky;
Yes, the fair young child with its flaxen hair,
And the aged, with the marks of toil and care,
And the youth, with its joys and its hopes so bright,
With a blooming cheek and an eye of light,
And they in the strength and midst of life,
Are gathered here from earth’s toil and strife;
And the good and the brave lie side by side
In the quiet grave.I go to that spot when the early flowers
Awake on these bright sunny hills of ours;
When the airs of the south breathe over the plain,
And the bluebird sings in the woods again;
When, awakened by rains from their winter rest,
Brook calls to brook on the mountain’s breast,
And the young leaves dance in each passing breath,
I often visit these haunts of death.When the summer comes, with its sultry heat,
And fierce on the earth the sunbeams beat;
When the leaf on the poplar’s bough is still,
And hushed is the voice of the mountain rill;
When the tall grass droops in the torrid glare,
And no sound is abroad in the motionless air,
I wander there for a breath of the gale
That is a stranger then in my native vale.When the maize in the autumn hills turns white,
And the yellow forests are bathed in light;
When the sun looks down with a milder ray,
And the dry leaves whirl in the gust away;
When the evening comes with glorious hues,
And the crimson clouds distill their dews;
When the winds of the icy north are still,
I sometimes visit this lonely hill.I have followed through winter’s sleety air
The lifeless form of a parent there,
When the deep snows lay over the mountains,
And the voiceless streams flowed slowly away.
Seven brothers and sisters stood around
The narrow vault in the frozen ground;
With their sainted mother, her great heart broke,
Her tall form bowed by the sudden stroke.
And we buried him there when the north winds blew,
And our tears fell fast like the summer dew,
And like ice to our hearts the cold earth slid,
With a hollow sound on his coffin lid.And still as the years of my life depart
Shall that lonely spot be dear to my heart;
For many a friend of my earlier days,
Who journeyed with me through life’s devious ways.
There lies in his long, long dreamless rest,
With the damp earth clinging around his breast;
And a voice comes up from each grassy tomb
As I tread those paths in the twilight’s gloom,
That tells me the hours of my own brief day
Are swiftly and silently passing away.
Welcome to a journey through John H. Bryant’s poignant poem, “The Mountain Graveyard.” This timeless piece invites readers to contemplate the profound connections between life, death, and the natural world. Through vivid imagery and thoughtful reflection, Bryant crafts a serene yet powerful meditation on mortality, memory, and the enduring beauty of a sacred resting place. Prepare to explore the depths of this evocative poem, uncovering its layers of meaning and the masterful techniques employed by its author.
The Mountain Graveyard Summary
John H. Bryant’s “The Mountain Graveyard” is a reflective poem centered on a cherished burial ground nestled on a vibrant hillside. The speaker describes this location with deep appreciation for its natural splendor, teeming with life: swallows soar, insects buzz, and wild fruits ripen. This lively scene, however, coexists with the quiet presence of those who have passed away. The poem chronicles the speaker’s recurring visits to this sacred spot throughout the changing seasons, each visit highlighting the stark yet harmonious contrast between the living world and the eternal rest of the departed. Ultimately, the poem serves as a profound meditation on life’s fleeting nature, the enduring power of memory, and the solace found in acknowledging one’s own mortality within this peaceful, natural setting. It is a powerful exploration of how a place of remembrance can also be a place of vibrant life and contemplation.
Central Idea of The Mountain Graveyard
The central idea of “The Mountain Graveyard” revolves around the profound contemplation of life and death, emphasizing the acceptance of mortality through a deep, personal connection to a specific, hallowed place. Bryant masterfully employs the imagery of a beautiful, life-filled landscape contrasted with the quiet stillness of the burial ground to illustrate the cyclical nature of existence and the inevitable passage of time. The poem suggests that acknowledging death, particularly