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Kn plemoiiam.

ALFRED TENN\ SON,

Poet LaiTreatk.

CANADIAN COPYRIGHT EDITION,

MONTREAL:
DAWSON BROTHERS, PUBLISHERS.

1880.

\sso

Cop. 1

Entered according to the Act of Parliament of Canada, in the
year 1880, by Dawson Brothers, in the Office of the
Minister of Agricultur*.

1)10 5 6

Gazette Printing Company, Montreal.

(f.-fi^lfl.'yM\'/ -

nada, in the
Office of the

TRONG Son of God, immortal Love,
Whom we, that have not seen ihj
face,

By faith, and faith alone, embrace.
Believing where we cannot prove ;

Thine are these orbs of light and shade ;

Thou madest Life in man and brute ;

Thou madest Death ; and lo, thy foot
Is on the skull which thou hast made.

Thou wilt not leave us in the dust :

Thou madest man, he knows not whyj
He thinks he was not made to die;

And thou hast made him : thou art just.

Thou seemest Imman and divine.

The highest, holiest manhood, thou :
Our wills are ours, we know not how ;

Our wills are ours, to make them thine.

Our little systems have their day ;

They have their day and cease to be :
They are but broken lights of thee,

And thou, O Lord, art more than they.

We have but faith : we cannot know ;
For knowledge is of things we see ;
And yet we trust it comes from thee,

A beam in darkness : let it grow.

Let knowledge grow from more to more,
Hut more of reverence in us dwell;
That mind and soul, according well,

May make one music as before.

But vaster. We are fools and slight ;
We mock thee when we do not fear :
But help thy foolish ones to bear ;

Help thy vain worlds to bear thy light.

Forgive what seem'd my sin in me ;

What seem'd my worth since I began ;

For merit lives from man to man,
And not from man. O Lord, to thee.

Forgive my grief for one removed,

Thy creature, whom I found so fair.
I trust he lives in thee, and there

I find him worthier to be loved.

Forgive these wild and wandering cries,

•

Confusions of a wasted youth ;

dl.

Forgive them where they fail in trath,

And in thy wisdom make me wise.

184Q.

IN MEMORIAM.

A. H. H.

OBin MOCCCXXXIII.

• f

IN MEMORIAM.
I.

HELD it truth, with him who sings
To one c'eaf harp in divers tones,
That men may rise on stepping-
stones
Of their dead selves to higher thinf::s.

But vi^ho shall so forecast the years
And find in loss a gain to match ?
Or reach a hand thro' time to catch

The far-off interest of tears ?

IN MEMORIAM.

Let Love clasp Grief lest both be drown'd,
Let darkness keep her raven gloss ;
Ah, sweeter to be drunk with loss,

To dance with death, to beat the ground,

Than that the victor Hours should scorn
The long result of love, and boast,
* Behold the man that loved and lost,

IJut all he was is overworn.'

IN MEMORIAM.

n I

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II.

|LD Yew, which graspest at the stones
That name the under-lyhig dead,
Thy fibres net the dreandess head.
Thy roots are wrapt about the bones.

The seasons bring the flower again.

And bring the firstling to the flock;
.. id in the dusk of thee, the clock
Beats out the little lives of men.

O not for thee the glow, the bloom,
Who changest not in any gale.
Nor branding summer suns avail

To touch thy thousand years of gloom :

And gazing on thee, sullen tree, ^
Sick for thy stubborn hardihood,
I seem to fail from out my blood
And grow incorporate into thee.

IN MEMORIAM.

III.

SORROW, cruel fellowship,

O Priestess in the vaults of Death,
O sweet and bitter in a breath,
What whispers from thy lying lip ?

• The stars,' she whispers, ' blindly run;
A web is wov'n across the sky j
From out waste places comes a cry,

And murmurs from the dying sun :

■■ And all the phantom. Nature, stands —
With all the music in her tone,
A hollow echo of my own, —

A hollow form with empty hands.'

And shall I take a thing so blind.

Embrace her as my natural good ;
Or crush her, like a vice of blood,

Upon the threshold of the mind?

IN MEMOl^dAM.

IV.

O Sleep I give my powers away ;
My will is bondsman to the dark ;
I sit within a heln. .ss bark,
And with my heart I muse and say :

O heart, how fares it with thee now,

That thou should'st fail from thy desire,
Who scarcely darest to inquire,

•What is it makes me beat so low ?'

Something it is which thou hast lost,

Some pleasure from thine early years.
Break, thou deep vase of chilling tears,

That grief hath shaken into frost'

Such clouds of nameless trouble cross
All night below tlie darken'd eyes ;
"With morning wakes the will, and cries,

* Thou shalt not be the fool of loss.'

>, il

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V- ■

IN MEMORIAM.

SOMETIMES hold it half a sin
To put in words the grief I feel ;
For words, lilce Nature, half reveal
And half conceal the Soul within.

But, for the unquiet heart and brain,
A use in measured language lies ;
The sad mechanic exercise,

Like dull narcotics, numbing pain.

In words, like weeds, I'll wrap me o'er,
Like coarsest clothes against the cold ;
But that large grief which these enfold

Is given in outline and no more.

IN MEMO R I AM.

alf a sin
rief I feel ;
e, half reveal
lin.

brain,
ge lies ;

)ain.

5 me o'er,
mst the cold ;
these enfold
e.

NE writes, that ' Other friends remain,'
That • Loss is common to the race*—
And common is the commonplace,
And vacant chaff well meant for grain.

That loss is common would not make
My own less bitter, rather more .
Too common ! Never morning wore

To evening, but some heart did break.

O father, wheresoe'er thou be,

Who pledgest now thy gallant son ;
A shot, ere half thy draught be done.

Hath still'd the life that beat from thee.

O mother, praying God will save

Thy sailor,— while thy head is bow'd,
His heavy-shotted hammock-shroud

Drops in his vast and w^andering grave.

,^f'

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8 IN MEMORIAM.

Ye know no more than I who wrought
At that last hour to please him well ;
Who mused on all I had to tell,

And something written, something thought j

Expecting still his advent home;
And ever met him on his way
With wishes, thinking, here to-day,

Or here to-morrow will he come.

O somewhere, meek unconscious dove,
That sittest ranging golden hair;
And glad to find thyself so fair,

Poor child, that waitest for thy love \

For now her father's chimney glows

In expectation of a guest ;

And thinking ' this will please him bef.t,'
She takes a riband or a rose ;

IN MEMORIAM.

For he will see them on to-niglit ;

And with the thought her colour burns j
And, having left the glass, she turns

Once more to set a ringlet right ;

And, even when she turn'd, the curse
Had fallen, and her future Lord
Was drown'd in passing thro' the ford,

Or kill'd in falling from his horse.

O what to her shall be the end ?

And what to me remains of good ?

To her, perpetual maidenhood,
And unto me no second friend.

IN MEMORIAM.

VII.

ARK house, by which once more I
stand
Here in the long unlovely street,
Doors, where my heart was used to beat
So quickly, waiting for a hand,

A hand that can be clasp'd no more-
Behold me, for I cannot sleep,
And like a guilty thing I creep

At earliest morning to the door.

He is not here ; but far away
The noise of life begins again,
And ghastly thro' the drizzling rain

On the bald street breaks the blank day.

IN MEMORIAM.

VIII.

HAPPY lover who has come

To look on her that loves him well,
Who 'lights and rings the gateway bell,
And learns her gone and far from home ;

He saddens, all the magic light

Dies off at once from bower and hall,
And all the place is dark, and all

The chambers emptied of delight :

So find I every pleasant spot

In which we two were wont to meet.
The field, the chamber and the street.

For all is dark where thou art not.

Yet as that other, wandering there
In those deserted walks, may find
A flower beat with rain and wind.

Which once she fostor'd up with care;

I
{

t,
?*

IN MEMORIAM.

So seems it in my deep regret,

my forsaken heart, with thee
And this poor flower of poesy

Which little cared for fades not yet.

But since u pleased a vanish'd eye,

1 go to plant it on his tomb,
That if it can it there may ])loom,

Or dying, there at least may die.

IN MEMORIaM.

IX.

AIR ship, that from the Italian shore
Sailest the placid ocean-plains
With my lost Arthur's loved remains,
Spread thy full wings, and waft him o'er.

So draw him home to those that mourn
In vain ; a favourable speed
Ruffle thy mirror'd mast, and lead -

Thro' prosperous floods his holy urn.

All night no ruder air perplex

Thy sliding keel, till Phosphor, bright
As our pure love, thro' early light

Shall glimmer on the dewy '^^cks.

n
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I HI

IN MEMORIAM.

Sphere all your lights around, above ;

Sleep, gentle heavens, before the prow j
Sleep, gentle winds, as he sleeps now,

My friend, the brother of my love ;

My Aithur, whom I shall not see
Till all my widow'd race be run ;
Dear as the mother to the son,

More than my brothers are to me.

IN MEMORIAM.

HEAR the noise about thy keel ;
I hear the bell struck in the night ;
1 see the cabin-window bright ;
I see the sailor at the wheel.

Thou bringest tlie sailor to his wife,

And travell'd men from foreign lands ;
And letters unto trembling hands ;

And, thy dark freight, a vanish'd life.

So bring him : we have idle dreams :
This look of quiet flatters thus
Our home-bred fancies : O to us,

The fools of habit, sweeter seems

')
{

/JV MEMORIAM,

To I est beneath the clover sod,

That lakes the sunshine and the rains,
Or where the kneeling hamlet drains

The chalice of the grapes of God ;

Than if with thee the roaring wells

Should gulf him fathom-deep in brine j
And hands so often clasp'd in mine,

Should toss with tangle and with shells.

■iM.

IN MBMORIAM,

50(1,

e and the rains,
hamlet drains
"God;

ig wells

[i-deep in brine ;
sp'd in mine,
I with shells.

ALM is the morn without a sound,
Calm as to suit a calmer griet,
And only thro' the faded leaf
The chestnut pattering to the ground :

Calm and deep peace on this high wold,

And on these dews that drench the furze,
And all the silvery gossamers

That twinkle into green and gold :

Calm and still light on yon great plain

That sweeps with all its autumn bowers,
And crowded farms and lessening towers,

To mingle with the bound -ng main :

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'* /// ME MORI AM.

Calm and deep peace in tiiis wide air,
These leaves tliat redden to the fall ;
And ni my heart, if calm at all.

If any calm, a calm despair :

Calm on the seas, a,,,] silver sleep.

And waves that sway themselves in rest,
And dead calm in that noble breast

Which heaves but with the heavin^r deep.

IN MEMOKIAM

XII.

O, as a dove when up she springs
To bear tliro' Heaven a tale of woe,
Some dolorous message knit below
The wild pulsation of her wings ;

Like her 1 go; I cannot stay;

I leave this mortal ark behind,

A weight of nerves without a mind,

And leave the cliffs, and haste away

O'er ocean-mirrors rounded large.

And reach the glow of southern skies,
And see the sails at distance rise,

And linger weeping on the marge,

^^ MEMORIAM.

And .aying;.. Co.es he thus, my friend?
Is this the end of all my cara?"
And circle moaning in the au ;

" Is this the end ? Is this the end ?"

And forward dart again, and play
About the prow, and back return
To where the body sits, and Jearn

That I have been an hour away.

'lAAf.

hus, my friend?
y cara ?"
the air :
he end ?"

iplay
ick return
ami ]eam
'ay.

IN ME MORI AM.

XIII.

EARS of the widoAver, wlien he sees
A late-lost form that sleep reveals,
And moves his doubtful arms, and feels
Iler place is empty, fall like these;

Which weep a loss for ever new,

A void where heart on heart re])oscd ;

And, where warm hands have prest and closed,

Silence, till I be silent too.

c
I

Which weep the comrade of my choice,
An awful thought, a life removed,
The human-hearted man I loved,

A Spirit, not a breathing voice.

/-^ MEMORIAM.

Come Time, and leqrh m^

' ^^^'^^ "le, many years,

I do not suffer in a dream ;

Fornow so strange do these things seem
Mme eyes have leisure for their tears;

My fancies time to rise on wing,

And glance about the approaching sails,
As tho' they brought but merchants' bales

And not the burthen that tliey bring.

me, many years,

dream ;

do tliese things seem,
or their tears ;

•n wing,

le approaching sails,
t but merchants' bales,
tJiey bring.

IN ME MORI AM.

»3

XIV.

F one should bring me this report,
That thou hadst touch'd the land
to-day.

And I went down unto the quay,
And found thee lying in the port ;

And standing, muffled round with woe.
Should see thy passengers in rank
Come stepping lightly down the piank,

And beckoning unto those they know ;

c
z

And if along with these should come
The man I held as half-divine ;
Should strike a sudden hand in mine,

And ask a thousand things of home ;

IN MEMORIAM.

And I should tell him all my pain,

And how my life had droop'd of late,
And he should sorrow o'er my state

And marvel what possess'd my brain ;

And I perceived no touch of change,

No hint of death in all his frame,
But found him all in all the same,
I should not leel it to be strange.

tain,

op'd of late,
r my state
' brain ;

lange,
frame,
e same,

IN Mt MORI AM.

1,1^

XV.

^i^^^^ljO-NIGIIT the winds begin to rise

And roar from yonder dropping

day :

The last red leaf is whirl'd away,
The rooks are blown about the skies ;

The forest crack'd, the waters curl'd,
The cattle huddled on the lea ;
And wildly dash'd on tower and tree

The sunbeam strikes along the world :

And but for fancies, which aver

That all thy motions gently pass
Athwart a plane of molten glass,

I scarce could brook the strain and stir

[ !■

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<«

'^ MEMORrAM.

'"'•^' '"•*'^' "« ""-n b™,c„es loud •
And but for fear i, is not ,o

T'.e «■.•!.. unrest tl.at lives i^ „„,
"-'"ote and pore on yonder cloud

TLat rises upward always higher.

A,KI onward drags a labouring breast,
And .o,,pIes round the dreary west,
'""""« ''^"™ Wnt'c'd with fire

■H»

branches loud ;
is not so,
^t Jives in woe
' yonder cloud

s higher,

■ labouring breast,
^e dreary west,
i with fire.

IN MEMORIAM.

XVI.

HAT words are these have fall'n from
me ?
Can cahn despair and wild unrest
Be tenants of a single breast.
Or sorrow such a changeling be ?

Or doth she only seem to take

The touch of change in calm or siorm ;

But knows no more of transient form
In her deep self, than some dead lake

That holds the shadow of a lark

Hung in the shadow of a heaven ?
Or has the shock, so harshly given,

Confused me like the utihappy bark

n ■ ]

I.,

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• IN MEMORIAM.

That strikes by night a craggy shelf,
And staggers blindly ere she sink ?
And stunn'd me from my power to ihink

And all my knowledge of myself ;

And made me that delirious man
Whose fancy fuses old aud new.
And flashes into false and true,

And mingles all without a plan?

?y shelf,
! she sink ?
y power to ihink
self ;

/A^ MEMOK/AM.

XVII.

IIOU comest, much wept for : such a
breeze
Compell'd thy canvas, and my prayer
Was as the whisper of an air
To breathe thee over lonely seas.

For I in spirit saw thee move

Thro' circles of the bounding sky,
Week after week : the days go by :

Come quick, thou bringest all I love.

•,.1

Henceforth, wherever thou may'st roam,
My blessing, like a line of light,
Is on the waters day and night,

And like a beacon guards thee home.

y) IN MKMORIAM

So may wliatcvcr tempest mars

Mid-ocean, spare Ihee, sacred hark ;
And l)ahny droi)s in summer dark

Slide from the bosom of the stars.

So kind an office hath been done,

Such precious relics brou<;ht by thee;
The dust of him I shall not see

Till all my vvidow'd race be mn.

IN MEAIORIAM.

sacred bnrk ;
mmer dark
; stars.

done,

aught by tliee;
1 not see
I iiin.

XVIII.

IS well; 'tis something; \vc may stand
Where he in English earth is laid,
And from his ashes may be made
The violet of his native land.

'Tis little; but it looks in truth

As if the quiet bones were blest
Among familiar names to rest

And in the places of his youth.

Come then, pure hands, and bear the head
That sleeps or wears the mask of sleep,
And come, whatever loves to wcpp

And hear the ritual of the dead.

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fiW ME MO Rr AM.

Ah yet, ev'n yet, if this might be,
I, falling on his faithful heart,
Would breathing thro' his lips impart

The life that almost dies in me \

That dies not, but endures with pain,
And slowly forms the firmer mind.
Treasuring the look it cannot find,

The words that are not heard again.

If.

be,

:art,

lips impart

1 pain,
er mind,
not find,
igain.

IN MEMORIAM.

XIX.

HE Danube to the Severn gave

Tlie dai ken'd lieart that beat no more ;
They laid him by the pleasant shore,
And in the hearing of the wave.

There twice a day the Severn fills ;
The salt sea-water passes by,
And hushes half the babbling Wye,

And makes a silence in the hills.

The Wye is hush'd nor moved along,
And hush'd my deepest grief of all,
When fill'd with tears that cannot fall,

I brim with sorrow drowning song.

The tide flows down, the wave again
Is vocal in its wooded walls ;
My deeper anguish also falls,
I And I can speak a little then.

IN MEMORIAM.

XX.

TIE lesser griefs that may be said,

That breathe a thousand tender vows.
Are but as servants in a house
Where Hcs the master newly dead;

Who speak their feeling as it is,

And weep the fullness from the mind:
" It will be hard," they say, ♦'tofrnd
Another service such as this."

My lighter moods are like to these,
That out of words a comfort wm ;
But there are other griefs within,

And tears that at their fountain freeze :

in;

ze:

IN MEMORIAM. 35

For by the hearth the cliildren sit

CoUl in that atmosphere of Dcaih.
And scarce endure to draw the brcatli.

Or like to noiseless phantoms flit :

said,

ender vowS;
ouse

But open converse is there none,
So much the vital spirits sink
To see the vacant chair, and think,

" How good ! how kind ! and he is gone."

le mind :
"tofmd

IN MEMORIAM..

XXI.

SING to him that rests below,
And, since the grasses round me wave,
I take the grasses of the grave,
And make them pipes whereon to blow.

The traveller hears me now and then,

And sometimes harshly will he speak ;
** This fellow would make weakness weak,

And melt the waxen hearts of men."

Anollicr answers, •' Let him be,

lie loves to make parade of pain,
That with his piping he may gain
The praise that comes to constancy."

A third is wroth, "Is this an hour
For private sorrow's barren song,
When more and more the people throng

The chairs and thrones of civil power?

'=-:.

1 me wave, ^
ive,

IN MEMOKIAM.

A time to sicken uml to swoon,

When Science readies forth her arms
To feel from world to world, and charms

Her secret from the latest moon?"

Behold, ye speak an idle thing :
Ye never knew the sacred dust :
I do but sing because I must,

And pipe but as the linnets sing:

And one is glad ; her note is gay,

For now her little ones have ranged;
And one is sad ; her note is changed,

Because her brood is stol'n away.

tC)

IN MEMORIAM,

XXII.

HE patli by which we twain did go,
Which led by tracts that pleased
well,

Thro* four sweet years arose and fell,
From flower to flower, from snow to snow:

And we with singing cheer'd the way,

And, crown'd with all the season lent,
From April on to April went.

And glad at heart from May to May:

IJui where tlie path we walk'd began
To slant the fifth autumnal slope.
As we descended following Hope,

There sat the Shadow fear'd of man;

•^

IN MEMORIAM.

Who broke our fair companionsliip,

And spread his mantle dark and cokl,
And wrapt thee formless in the fold,

And dull'd the murmur on thy lip,

ain did go,
hat pleased uii

:I fell,
) snow ;

And bore thee where I could not see
Nor follow, tho' I walk in haste,
And think, that somewhere in the waste
The Shadow sits and waits for me.

n lent,

M r 1

% " )

a
<

IN MEMORIAM

xxm.

OW, sometimes in my sonow shut,
Or breaking into song by fits,
Alone, alone, to where lie sits,
The Shadow cloak'd from head to foot,

Who keeps the keys of all the creeds,
I wander, often falling lame.
And looking back to whence I came.

Or on to where the patliway leads ;

And crying, How changed from where it ran
Thro' lands where not a leaf \xas dumbj
But all the lavish hills would hum

The murmur of a happy Pan :

IN MEMORIAM.

When each by turns was ^iiide to each,
And Fancy Hj^dit from Fancy caught,
And Thought leaj)! out to wed with Thought

Ere Thought could wed itself with Speech ;

And all we met was fair and good.

And all was good that Time could bring,
And all the secret of the Spring

Moved in the chambers of the blood ;

And many an old philosophy

On Argive heights divinely sang,
And round us all the thicket rang

To many a tlute of Arcady.

fc r 4'

•H M

bmok

iam.

1 fair ^^*^ ^^*^^'

M-^'^^'""" ,.,, present sute,

Thai seis vhe v

0,ltol*eP^ .^3 being to-.
'^*^^"'" 1 perfect sta.

^ndovbtoW^r^l, Hereto'

,.Ve s»v< no»' \^

ate,

at?

.'^^^^^^^

IN MEMORIAM.

XXV.

KNOW that this was Life,- the track
Whereon with equal feet we fared ;
And then, as now, the day prepared
The daily burden for the back.

But this it was that made me move
As hght as carrier-birds in air ;
I loved the weight I had to bear,
Because it needed help of Love :

Nor could 1 weary, heart or limb,

When mighty Love would cleave in twain

The lading of a single pain,
And part it, giving half to him.

C ^

r'
<

,tar

ihete

■Vji?

■»^''

IN MEMORIAM

XXVI.

,T1LL onward winds the dreary way ;
1 with it; for Hong to prove
No lapse of moons can canker Love,

Whatever fickle tongties may say.

And if that eye which watches guilt

And goodness, and hath power to see

Within the green the mouldcr'd tree,
And towers fall'n as soon as built-

Oh, if indeed that eye foresee
Or see (in Ilim is no before)

In more of life true life no more
And Love the indifference to be,

Then might I find, ere yet the morn
Breaks hither over Indian seas,
That Shadow waiting with the keys,
To shroud me from ^ >er scorn.

IN MEMORIAM.

XXVII.

ENVY not in any moods

The captive void of noble rage, ^
The linnet born within the cage,
That never knew the summer woods :

I envy not the bcasf that takes
His license in the field of ti'
Unfotter'd by the sense oi crime,

To whom a conscience never wakes ;

Nor, what may count itself as blest.
The heart that never plighted troth
But stagnates in the weeds of sloth ;

Nor any want -begot ten rest.

I hold it true, what e'er befall ;

I feel it, when I sorrow most ;

'Tis better to have loved and lost
Than never to have loved at all.

IN MEMORIAM.

XXVTII.

HE lime draws near the birth of Christ:
The moon is hid ; the night is still :
The Christmas bells from hill to hill
Answer each other in the mist.

Four voices of four hamlets round,

From far and near, on mead and moor,
Swell out and fail, as if a door

Were shut between me and the sound :

Lach voice four changes on the wind,
That nowdilace, and now decrease,
Peace and goodwill, goodwill and peace,

Peace and goodv/ill, to all mankind.

if Christ:
: is still :
illtohiU

or.

n/ MEMORIAM. 47

'his year I slept and woke with pain,
1 almost wish'd no more to wake,
And that my hold on life would break

Jefore I heard those bells again ;

Jut they my troubled spirit nile.

For they controU'd me when a boy ;
They bring me sorrow touch'd with joy,
:he merry merry bells of Yule.

■ace,

4«

,S MEMORI*"-

XXIX.

j,TU such compelUng cause to firieve
^, <Uily vexes household pe.ce,
__ And chains regret to his decease.

;;;;;:^eweUeepourChris.n,as.eve =

Wh>chhnngsno-norea..elcon,e,n.e,t ,

To enrich the threshold of the „.«h.
With shower'd largess of deh^hl
,„ dance and song and game and, est?

vet go, and while the hoUy houghs

E„t.tne the cold haptlsn^Uo..^^^^
Make one wreath more for Use a

TT.,t guard the portals of the house-.

Old sisters of a day gone by,

Gray nurses, loving nothing new;

,Vhy should they miss their yearly due
Before their time. They too will dte.

hi I

I'l

IN MEMOKIAM.

4»

vt'f

XXX.

]ITI1 trembling fingers did we weave
The holly round the Christmas hearth .
A rainy cloud possess'd the earth,
And sadly fell our Christmas-eve.

At our old pastimes in the hall

We gambol'd, making vain f.-'elence
Of gladness, with an awful sense

Of one mute Shadow watching all.

We paused : the winds were in the beech :
We heard them sweep the winter land ;
And in a circle hand-in-hand

Sat silent, looking each at each.

Then echo-like our voices rang;

We sung, tho' every eye was dim,
A merry song we sang with him

Last year : impetuously we sang :

I ill

IN MEMORIAM.

We ceased : a gentler feeling crept

Upon us : surely rest is meet :

" They rest," we said, ** their sleep is sweet,
And silence follow'd, and we wept.

Our voices took a higher range ;

Once more we sang : "They do not die
Nor lose their mortal sympathy,

Nor change to us, although they change;

Rapt from the fickle and the frail

With gathcr'd power, yet the same,
Pierces the keen seraphic flame

From orb to orb, from veil to veil."

Rise, happy morn, rise, holy mom,

Draw forth the cheerful day from night :
O Father, touch the east, and light

Tlie hght that shone when Hope was bom.

IN MEMORIAM.

XXXI.

THEN Lazarus left his charncl-cave,

And home to Mary's house returned,
Was this demanded— if he yearn'd
To hear her weeping by his grave ?

" Where vvert thou, brother, those four days ?"

There Uvcs no record of reply,

Which telling what it is to die
Had surely added praise to praise-

From every house the neighbours met,

The streets were fiU'd with joyful sound,
A solemn gladness even crowii'd

The purple brows of Olivet.

Behold a man raised up by Christ !

The rest remaineth unreveal'd ;

He told it not ; or something seal'd
The lips of that Evangelist.

5«

/,V M EM OR I AM.

XXXII.

]ER eyes are homes of silent prayer,
Nor other thought her mind admits
But, he was dead, and there he sits,
And he that brought him back is there.

Then one deep love doth supersede
All other, when her ardent gaze
Roves from the living brother's face,

And rests upon the Life indeed.

All subtle thought, all curious fears.

Borne down by gladness so complete,
She bows, she bathes the Saviour's feet

With costly spikenard and with tears.

Thrice blest whose lives are faithful prayers,
Whose loves in higher love endure ;
What souls possess themselves so pure,

Or is there blessedness like theirs ?

IN MEMORIAM.

XXXIII.

THOU that after toil and storm
Mayst seem to have reach'd a purer air,
Whose faith has centre everywhere,
Nor cares to fix itself to form,

Leave thou thy sister when she prays,

Her early Heaven, her happy views;
Nor thou witli shadow'd hint confuse

A life that leads melodious days.

Her faith thro' form is pure as thine.
Her hands are quicker unto good :
Oh, sacred be tlie flesh and blood

To which she links a truth divine!

See thou, that countest reason ripe
In holding by the law within,
Thou fail not in a world of sin.

And ev'n for want of such a Xjo^.

iN AtEAIORIAM,

XXXIV.

Y own dim life should teach me this,
That life shall live for evermore,
Else earth is darkness at the core,
And dust and ashes all that is;

This round of green, this orb of flame,
Fantastic beauty ; such as lurks
In some wild Poet, when he works

Without a conscience or an aim.

What then were God to such as I ?

'Twere hardly worth my while to choose
Of things all mortal, or to use

A little patience ere I die ;

'Twere best at once to sink to peace,

Like birds the changing serpent draws.
To drop head-foremost in the jaws

Of vacant darkness and to cease.

IN MEMORIAM.

XXXV.

'^ET if some voice that man could trjst
Should murmur from the narrow
house,

" The cheeks drop in; tiie body bows;
Man dies : nor is there Iiope in dust :"

Might I not say? " Yet even here,
But for one hour, O Love, I strive
To keep so sweet a tiling alive : "

But I should turn mine ears and hear

The moanings of the homeless sea,

The sound of streams that swift or slow
Draw down .Ionian hills, and sow

The dust of continents to be;

IN MEMOR fAM.

And Love would answer with a sigh,
" The sovnid of that forgetful shore
Will change my sweetness more and more,

Ilalf-dead to know that I shall die."

O me, what profits it to put

An idle case ? If Death were seen
At first as Deatli, Love had not been,

Or been in narrowest working shut,

Mere fellowship of sluggish moods,

Or in his coarsest Satyr-shape

Had bruised the herb and cnish'd the grap:
And bask'd and batten'd in the woods.

IN MEMOK lAM.

XXXVI.

^^vs^JJiIIO' liiitlis in manhood darkly join,
Deep-seated in our mystic frame,
We yield all blessinj^ to the name
Of II im that made them current coin ;

For Wisdom dealt with mortal powers,

Where truth in closest words shall fail,
When tnith embodied in a tale

Shall enter in at lowly doors.

And so the Word had breath, and wrought
With human hands the creed of creeds
In loveliness of perfect deeds,

More strong than all poetic thought ;

Which he may read that binds the sheaf,
Or builds the house, or digs the grave,
And those wild eyes that watch the wave

In roarings round the coral reef.

IN MEMORIAM

XXXVIl.

|;^S7%^RANIA speaks with darkon'd brow:

"Thou pratest here where thou ait
least ;

Tliis faith has many a purer priest,
And many an abler voice than thou.

Go down beside thy native rill,
On thy Parnassus set thy feet,
And hear thy laurel whisper sweet

About the ledges of the hill."

And my Melpomene replies,

A touch of shame upon her cheek :
♦♦ I am not worthy ev'n to speak

(){ Lhy prevailing mysteries ;

IN MEMO K /AM.

For I am but an earthly '.Ti'se,
And owning but i lUlle a:-:
To lull Willi song ^n jichin- heart,

And render human love ius dues ;

But brooding on the dear one dead,
And all he said of things divine,
(And dear to me as sacred wine

To dying lips is all he said),

I niurmur'd, as I came along.

Of comfort claspM in truth revcal'd i
And loilcr'd in the master's field,

And darken'd sanctities with song."

" r

(*«

IN MEMORIAM.

XXXVTII.

TTII weary steps I loiter on,
Tho' always under altcr'd skies
The puq^le from the distance dies,
My prospect and horizon gone.

No joy the blowing season gives,
The herald melodies of spring,
But in the songs I love to sing

A doubtful gleam of solace lives.

If any care for what is here

Survive in spirits render'd free,
Then are these songs I sing of thee
Not all ungrateful to thine ear.

^s5?Ki>c.;;^

IN MEMORIAM.

XXXIX.

LD warder of these buried bones,
And answering now my random Stioke
With fruitful cloud and living smoke.
Dark yew, that graspest at the stones

And dippest toward the dreamless head,
To thee too comes the golden hour
Wlr-A flower is feeling after flower ;

But Sorrow fixt upon the dead.

And darkening the dark graves of men,
What whisper'd from her lying lips ?
Thy gloom is kindled at the tips,

And passes into gloom again.

^^^

IN MEMORIAM.

XL.

OULD we forget the widow'd hour
And look or. Spirits breathed away.
As on a maiden in the day
When first she wears her orange-flower I

\Vhen crown'd with blessing she doth rise
To take her latest leave of home,
And hopes and light regrets that come

Make April of her tender eyes;

And doubtful joys the father move,

And tears are on the mother's face,
As parting with a long embrace

She enters other realms of love ;

Her office there to rear, to teach.
Becoming as is meet and fit
A link among the days, to knit

The generations each with each;

IN ME MORI AM. 63

And, doubtless, unto thee is given
A life that bears immortal fruit
In such great offices as suit

The full-grown energies of heaven.

Ay me, the difference I discern !
How often shall her old fireside
Be cheer'd with tidings of the bride,

How often she herself return,

And tell them all they would have told,

And bring her babe, and make her boast,
Till even those that miss'd her most.

Shall count new things as dtar as old : '

But thou and I have shaken hands,
Till growing winters lay me low ;
My paths are in the fields I know.

And thine in undiscover'd lands.

IN ME MORI AM.

XLI.

loss
Did ever rise from high to higher ;
As mounts the heavenward altar-fire,
As flies the lighter thro' the gross.

But thou art turn'd to something strange,
And I have lost the links that bound
Thy changes ; here upon the ground,

No more partaker of th. -hange.

Deep folly ! yet that this could be-
That I could wing my will with might
To leap the grades of life and light,

And flash at once, my friend, to thee

IN ME MORI AM.

For tho' my nature rarely yields

To that vagi\e fear implied in death ;
Nor shudders at the gulfs beneath,
The hovvlings from forgotten fields ;

Yet oft when sundown skirts the moor

An inner trouble I behold,

A spectral doubt which makes me cold,
That I shall be thy mate no more,

Tho' following with an upward mind

The wonuers that have come to thee,
Thro' all the secular to-be,

But evermore a life behind.

It^ MEMORIA nt

XUI.

^ VEX my hc.irt, wiili fancies dim:
lie still outsUij)! me in the race;
It was but unity of place
That made me dream I rank'd with him.

And so may Place retain us still,

And he the much-beloved again,
A lord of large experience, train

To riper growth the mind and will :

And what delighis can equal those
That stir the spirit's inner deepb,
When one that loves but knows not, reaps

A truth from one that loves and knows?

IN MEMORIAM.

XLIII.

F Sleep and Death be truly one,
And every spirit's folded bloom
Thro' all its intervital gloom
In some long trance should slumber on;

Unconscious of the sliding hour,
Bare of the body, might it last
And silent traces of the past

Be all the colour of the ilovvei

So then were nothing lost to man ;
So that still garden of the souls
In many a figured leaf enrolls

The total world since life began ;

And love will last as pure and whole
As when he loved me here in Time,
And at the spiritual prime

Rewaken with the dawning soul.

IN MEMORIAM.

XLIV.

0\V fares it with the happy dead ?
For here the man is more and more;
But he forgets the days before
God shut the doorways of his head.

The days have vanish'd, tone and tint,
And yet perhaps the hoarding sense
Gives out at times (he knows not whence)

A little flash, a mystic hint ;

And in the long harmonious years

(If Death so taste Lethean springs)
May some dim touch of earthly things

Surprise thee ranging with thy peers.

If such a dreamy touch should fall,

O turn thee round, resolve the doubt ;
My guardian angel will speak out

In that high place, and tell thee all.

> i

IN ME MORI AM.

XLV.

HE baby new to earth and sky,

What time his tender |)ahn is prest
Against the circle of the breast,
Has never thought that ** this is I:"

■

But as he grows he gatliers much,

And learns the use of " I," and " me,"
And finds ** I am not what I see.

And other than the things I touch."

So rounds he to a separate mind

From whence clear memory may begin,
As thro' the frame that binds him in

His isolation grows defined.

This use may lie in blood and breath.

Which else were fruitless of their due,
Had man to learn himself anew

Beyond the second birth of Death.

IN M E MORI AM.

XLVI.

E ranging down this lower track,
The path we came by, thorn anil llower,
Is shadow' (1 by the gruwin;^ hour,

Lest life should fail in looking back.

So be it : there no shade can last

In tliat deep dawn behind the tomb,

But clear from marge to marge shall bloom

The eternal landsca[< of tin- past;

A lifelong tract of time n; /eal'd ;

The fruitful hours of still increase;

Days order'd in a wealthy i)(ace,
And those five years its richest ii

Love^ thy province were not large,
A bounded field, nor stretching far;
Look also, Love, a brooding star,

A rosy warmth from marge to marge.

IN MEMOlilAM.

XLVII.

II AT each, who seems n scparnte whole,
Should move his rounds, and fusing all
Tlie skirts of -elf again, sliould fall
Renicrgiiig in the general Sui.l,

T- f;iiii; as vague as all unswect :
I'" ual -rm shall still divide
'1 1. tf' lal soul from all beside ;

\nd I <'iall know him when we meet:

And we shall sit at end lev feast,

Enjoying each the ot 's good :
What vaster dream can hit the mood

Of L( e on earth? He seeks .. east

Upon the last and sharj, t height,
Before the spirit'^ fai away,
Some landing-pl^ce, to clasp and sny,

** Fart veil! We lose ourselves i'^ light."

rN RJEMORIAM.

XLVIII.

F these brief lays, of Sorrow born,
Were tal<en to be such as closed
Grave loubts and answers here
proposed,
Then these were such as men might scorn :

Her care is not to part and prove;

She takes, when harsher moods remit,
What slender shade of doubt may flit,

And makes it vassal unto love :

And hence, indeed, she sports with words.
But better serves a wholesome law.
And holds it sin and shame to draw

The deepest measure from the chords :

Nor dare she trust a larger lay,
But rather loosens from the lip
Short swallow-flights of song, that dip

Their wings in tears, and skim away.

IN ME MORI AM.

XLIX.

ROM art, from nature, from tlie schools,
Let random influences glance,
Like light in many a shiver'd lance
That breaks about the dappled pools :

The lightest wave of thought shall lisp.
The fancy's tenderest eddy wreathe,
The slightest air of song shall breathe

To make the sullen surface crisp.

And look thy look, and go thy v/ay,

But blame not thou the winds that make
The seeming-wanton ripple break,

The tcnder-pencil'd shadow pla^.

Beneath all fancied hopes and fears
Ay me, the sorrow deepens down,
Whose muffled motions blindly drown

The bases my life in tears.

IN MEMORIAM.

.T^^^jE near me when my light is low,

When the blood creeps, and the
nerves prick
And tingle ; and the heart is sick,
And all the wheels of Being slow.

Be near me when the sensuous frame

Is rack'd with pangs that conquer trust ;
And Time, a maniac scattering dust,

And Life, a Fury slinging flame.

Be near me wlicn my faith is dry,

And men the flies of latter spring,
That lay their eggs, and sting and sing.

And weave their petty cells and die.

Be near me when I fade away,

To point the term of human strife,
And on the low dark verge of life

The twilight of eternal oay.

IN MEMORIAM.

LI.

O we indccxl desire the dead

Should still be near us at our side?
Is there no baseness we woukl hide ?
No inner vileness that we dread ?

Shall he for whose applause I strove,
I had such reverence for his blame,
See with clear eye some hidden shame

And I be lessen'd in his love?

I wrong the grave with fears untrue :

Shall love be blamed for want of faith ?
There must be wisdom with great Death :

The dead shall look me thro' and thro'.

Be near us when we climb or fall :

Ye watch, like God, the rolling hours
With larger other eyes than ours,

To make allowance for us all

IN MEMORIAM.

LII.

CANNOT love thee as I ought,

For love reflects the thing beloved ;
My words are only words, and moved
Upon the topmost froth of thought.

*• Yet blame not thou thy plaintive song,"
The Spirit of true love replied ;
* • Thou canst not move me from thy side,

Nor human frailty do me wrong.

" What keeps a spirit wholly true

To that ideal which he bears ?

What record ? not the sinless years
That breathed beneath the Syrian blue :

* So fret not, like an idle girl,

That life is dash'd with flecks of sin.
Abide: thy wealth is gaiher'd in,
When Time hath sunder'd shell from pearl "

IN MEMORIAM.

LIII.

OW many a father have I seen,
A sober man, among his boys,
Whose youth was full of foolish noise;
Who wear? his manhood hale and green :

And dare we to this fancy give,

That had the wild oat not been sown,
The soil J left barren, scarce had grown

The grain by which a man may live ?

Oh, if we held the doctrine sound
For life outliving heats of youth,
Yet who would preach it as a truth

To those that eddy round and round ?

Hold thou the good : define it well :
For fear divine Philosophy
Should push beyond her mark and be

Procuress to the Lords of Hell.

IN ME MORI AM.

LIV.

^rill yet we trust thnt somehow good
Will be the final goal of ill,
To pangs of nature, sins of will,

Defects of doubt, and taints of blood;

That nothing walks with aimless feet ;
That not one life shall be dcstroy'd,
Or cast a: v.obish to the void,

When God hath made the pile complete;

That not a worm is cloven in vain ;
That not a moth with vain desire
Is shrlvel'd in a fruitless fire,

Or but subserves another's gain.

IN MEMORIAM.

Behold, we know not anything ;

I can but trust that good shall fall
At last— far off— at last, to all.

And every winter change to spring.

So runs my dream : but what am I ?
An infant crying in the night :
An infant crying for the light :

And with no language but a cry.

IN MEM0RIA2/1,

LV.

v-^N,^-^|IIE wish, that of the living whole
fel riV ^^ j.fg ^^y fj^ii beyond the grave,

Derives it not from what we have

The likest God within the soul ?

Are God a..d Nature then at strife,

That Nature lends such evil dreams ?
So careful of the type she seems,

So careless of the single life ;

That I, considering everywhere

Her secret meaning in her deeds,
And finding that of fifty seeds
She often brings but one to bear,

\l\\

IN ME MORI AM.

I falter where I firmly trod,

And falling with my weight of cares
Upon the great world's altar-stairs

That slope thro' darkness up to God,

I stretch lame hands of faith, and grope,
And gather dust and chaff, and call
To what I feci i . Lord of all,

And faintly trust the larger hope.

IN MEMORIAM.

LVl.

' -<'i;

^5J^^0 careful of the type ?" but no.

' -'^ From scari^ed cliff and quarried stono

She cries, '*A thousand types arc Rone :

I care for nothing, all shall s^o.

"Thou niakcst thine appeal to me:
I bring to life, I bring to death :
The spirit does but mean the breath :

1 know no more." And he, shall he,

Man, her last work, who seem'd so fair,
Such splendid puipose in his eyes.
Who roll'd the psalm to wintiy skies,

Who built him fanes of fruitless prayer,

Who trusted God was love indeed
And love Creation's final law —
Tho' Nature, red in tooth and claw

With ravine, shriek'd against his creed —

IN MEMORIAM.

Who loved, who suffcr'd counllcss ills,
Wlio battled for the True, the Just,
Be blown about the desert dust.

Or seal'd within the iron hills ?

No more ? A monster then, a dream,
A discord. Draj^ons of the prime,
That tare each other in their slime,

Were mellow music niatch'd witli him.

O life as futile, then, as frail !

O for thy voice to soothe and bless .'
What hope of answer, or redress ?

Behind the veil, behind the veil.

E ACE ; come away : the soni^ of woe
Is after all an earthly song :
Vev.'-:'^ J -omeaway : we do him wrong

To sing so \vHa)y : let us go.

Come ; let us go : your cheeks are pale ;
But half my life I leave behind :
Methinks my friend is richly shrined;

But I shall pass ; my work will fail.

Yet in these ears, till hearing dies,

One set slow bell will seem to toll
The passing of the sweetest soul

That ever look'd with human eyes.

I hear it now, and o'er and o'er,
Eternal greetings to the dead;
And " Ave, Ave, Ave," said,

«* Adieu, adieu" for evermore.

♦

IN MEMORIAM.

LVIII.

N those sad words I look farewell'
Like ccliocs in sepulchral halls,
As drop by drop the water falls
In vaults and catacombs, they fell ;

And, falling, idly broke the peace

Of hearts that beat from day to day,
Half-conscious of their dying clay,

And those cold crypts where they sha', cease.

Tiie high Muse answer'd : " Wherefore grieve
Thy brethren with a fruitless tear ?
Abide a little longer here,

And thou shalt take a nobler leave."

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Photographic
Sciences
brporation

^^'

23 WEST MA'N STREET

WEBSTER, N.Y. 14580

(716) 872-4503

IN MEMORIAM.

LIX.

SORROW, wilt lliou live with me
No casual mistress, but a wife,
My bosom-friend and half of life j
As I confess it needs must be;

O Sorrow, wilt thou rule my blood,
Be sometimes lovely like a bride,
And put thy harsher moods aside,

If thou wilt have me wise and t;ood.

My centred passion cannot move,
Nor will it lessen from to-day ;
But I'll have leave at times to play

As with the creature of my love ;

And set thee forth, for thou art mine.

With so much hope for years to come,
That, howsoe'er I know thee, somj

Could hardly tell what name were thine.

IN MEMO R I AM.

LX.

E past ; a soul of nobler lone

My spirit loved and loves him yet,
Like some poor girl whose heart is set
On one whose rank exceeds her own.

He mixing with his proper sphere,
She finds the baseness of her lot.
Half jealous of she knows not what,

And envying all that meet him there.

The little village looks forlorn ;

She sighs amid her narrow days,
Moving about the household ways,

In that dark house where she was born.

The foolish neighbours come and go,

And tease her till the day draws by :
At night she weeps, " ITow vain am I !

How should he love a thing so low?"

^ i

IN ME MORI AM.

LXl.

F, in thy second state sublime,

Thy ransom'd reason change replies
With all the circle of the wise,
The perfect (lower of human time;

An<l if thou cast thine eyes below,

How dimly characler'd and slight,

How dwarf'd a growth of cold an<l night.
How blanch'd with darkness must I grow !

Yet turn thee to the doubtful shore,

Where thy first form was made a man ;
1 loved thee. Spirit, and love, nor can
The soul of Shakspeare love thee more.

Qg!^^^

IN MEMOKIAM.

LXII.

1 10' if an eye that's downward cast
Could make thee somewhat blench or
fail,

Then be my love an idle tale,
And fading legend of the past;

And thou, as one that once declined,
When he was little more than boy,
On some unworthy heart with joy,

But lives to wed an equal mind j

And breathes a novel world, the while
His other passion wholly dies,
Or in the light of deeper eyes

Is matter for a flying smile.

iP '

)

- - ■

IN MEMORIAM.

LXIII.

ET pity for a horse o'er-drivcn,

And love in which my hound has
part,

Can hang no weight upon my heart
In its assumptions up to heaven;

And I am so much more than these,

As thou, perchance, art more tlian I,
And yet I spare them sympathy

And I would set their pains at ease.

So may'st thou watch me where I weep.
As, linto vaster motions bound,
The circuits of thine orbit round

A higher height, a deeper deep.

f'&Xf^

iN ME MORI AM.

LXIV.

OST thou look back on vvli.il hath been,
As some divinely gifted man,
Whose life in low estate began
And on a simple village green ;

Who breaks his birth's invidious bar,

And grasps the skirts of happy chance,
And breasts the blows of circumstance,

And grapples with his evil star;

Who makes by force his merit known
And lives to clutch the golden keys,
To mould a mighty state's decrees,

And shape the whisper of the throne ;

And moving up from high to higher,

Becomes on Fortune's crowning slope
The pillar of a people's hope,

The centre of a world's desire;

IN MEMO RI AM.

Yet feels, as in a pensive dream,

When all his active powers are still,
A distant dearness in the hill,

A secret sweetness in the stream.

The limit of his narrower fate,

While yet beside its vocal springs
He play'd at counsellors and kings,

With one that was his earliest mate;

Who ploughs with pain his native lea
And reaps the labour of his hands.
Or in the furrow musing stands;

<« Does my old friend remember me?"

IN MEMORIAM.

LXV.

WEET soul, do with me as thou wilt ;
I lull a fancy trouble-tost
With •* Love's too precious to be lost,
A little grain shall not be spilt."

And in that solace can I sing,

Till out of painful phases wrought
There flutters up a happy thought,

Self-balanced on a liglitsome wing:

Since we deserved the name of friends,
And thine effect so lives in me,
A part of mine may live in thee

And move thee on to noble ends.

<^,^^^

IN MEMORIAM.

LXVI.

OU thought my heart too far diseased j
You wonder when my fancies play
To find me gay among the gay,
Like one with any trifle pleased.

The shade by which my life was crost,
Which makes a desert in the mind,
Has made me kindly with my kind,

And like to him whose sight is lost ;

Whose feet are guided thro' the land,
Whose jest among his friends is free,
W' ho takes the children on his knee.

And winds their curls about his hand:

He plays with threads, he beats his chair
For pastime, dreaming of the sky ;
His inner day can never die.

His night of loss is always there

IN MEMORIAM.

9»

LXVII.

HEN on my bed the moonlight falls,
I know that in thy place of rest
By that broad water of the west,
There comes a glory on the walls :

Thy marble bright in dark appears,
As slowly steals a silver flame
Along the letters of thy name.

And o'er the numi-c. of thy years.

The mystic glory swims away ;

From off my bed the moonlight dies;

And closing eaves of wearied eyes
I sleep till dusk is dipt in gray :

And then I know the mist is drawn
A lucid veil from coast to coast,
And in the dark church like a ghost

Thy tablet glimmers to the dawn

IN MEMOKIAM.

LXVIII.
HEN in the down I sink my head,
vSlcep, Death's twin-brother, times
my breath ;

Sleep, Death's twin-brother, knows noi Death,
Nor can I dream of thee as dead :

I walk as ere I walk'd forlorn,

When all our path was fresh with dew,

And all the bugle breezes blew
Reveillee to the breaking morn.

But what is this ? I turn about,
I find a trouble in thine eye,
Which makes me sad I know not why,

Nor can my dream resolve the doubt :

But ere th • lark hath left the lea

I wake, and I discern the truth;
It is the trouble of my youth

That foolish sleep transfers to thee.

IN MEMO U 1AM.

LXIX.

DREAM'D there would be Spring no
more,
That Nature's ancient power vv.is lost :
The streets were black with smoke and frost,
They chatter'd trifles at ilie door:

I wander'd from the noisy town,

I found a wood with thorny boughs :
I took the thorns to bind my brovv^',

I wore them Ukc a civic crown :

i met with scoffs, I met with scorns

From youth and babe and hoary hairs;
They call'd me in the public square

The fool that wears a crown of thorns :

IM MEMOKIAM.

They callM me foci, they call'd me child:
I found an angel of the night ;
The voice was low, the look was bright

He look'd upon my crown and smiled :

He reach'd the glory of a hand,

That scem'd to touch it into leaf:
The voice was not the voice of grief,

The words were hard to understand.

IN MEMORIAM

LXX.

CANNOT see the features right,
When on the ^ jom I strive to paint
The face I know ; the Inics are faint
And mix with hollow masks of nii;ht ;

Cloud-towers by ghostly masons wrought,
A gulf that ever shuts and gapes,
A hand that points, and palled shapes

In shadowy thoroughfares of tho\ight ;

And crowds that stieam from yawning doors,
And shoals of pucker'd faces drive ;
Dark bulks that tumble half alive,

And lazy lengths on boundless shores ;

Till all at once beyond the will
I hear a wizard music roll,
And thro' a lattice on the soul

Looks thy fair face and makes it still.

lOO

IN MEMOKIAM.

LXXl.

LEEP, kinsman thou to death and trance
And madness, thou hast forged at last
A night-lunj; Present of the Past
In which we went thro' summer France.

lladst thou such credit with the soul?
Then bring an opiate trebly strong,
Drug down the blindfold sense of wrong

That so my pleasure may be whole ;

While now we talk as once we talk'd

Of men and minds, the dust of change,
The days that grow to something strange,

In walking as of old we walk'd

Beside the river's wooded reach,

The fortress, and the mountain ridge,
The cataract flashing from the bridge,

The breaker breaking on the beach.

IN MEMORIAM.

xox

LXXII.

IS EST thou thus, dim dawn, again,
And howlest, issuing out of night,
With blasts that blow the poplar white,
And lash with storm the streaming pane?

Day, when my crown'd estate begun
To pine in that reverse of doom,
Which sicken'd every living bloom,

And blurr'd the splendour of the sun ;

Who usherest in the dolorous hour

With thy quick tears that make the rose
Pull sideways, and the daisy close

Her crimson fringes to the shower ;

Who might'st have heaved a windless flame
Up the deep East, or, wl!isi)ering, play'd
A chequer- work of beam and shade

Along the hills, yet look'd the same.

i.iif.>(

I02

IN MEMORIAM.

As wan, as chill, as wild as now ;

Day, maikM as with some hideous crime,
When the dark hand struck down thro' time,

And cancell'd nature's best : but thou,

Lift as thou niay'st thy bmlhen'd brows

Thro' clouds that drench the morning star,
And whirl the ungarner'd sheaf afar.

And sow the sky with flying boughs,

And up thy vault with roaring sound

Climb thy thick noon, disastrous day ;
Touch thy dull goal of joyless gray,

And hide tliy shame beneath the ground.

^'^^^

rN MEMORI^XM.

t03

LXXHI.

O many worlds, so mucli to do,

So little done, such things to be,
How know I what had need of thee,
For thou wert strong as thou wert true ?

The fame is quench'd that I foresaw,

The head hath miss'd an earthly wreath :
I curse not nature, no, nor death ;

For nothing is that errs from law.

We pass ; the path that each man trod.
Is dim, or will be dim, with weeds :
What fame is left for human deeds

In endless age? It rests with God.

O hollow wraith of dying fame,

Fade wholly, while the soul exults,
And self-infolds the large results

Of force that would have forged a name.

■<:

S04

IN MEMORIAL.

LXXIV.

S someiimcs in a dead man's face,

To those that waicli it more and more,
A likeness, liaidly seen before,
Comes out — to some one of his race :

So, dearest, now thy brows arc cold,
I see thee what thou art, and know
Thy likeness to the wise below,

Thy kindred with the great of old.

But there is more than I can see,
And what I see I leave unsaul,
Nor speak it, knowing Death has made

His darkness beauiiful with thee.

IN MEMORIAL.

105

I. XXV.

LEAVE tliy jiraiscs unexpress'd
In verse lliat brings myself relief,
And by the measure of my grief
I leave thy greatness to be giiess'd

What practice howsoe'cr expert

In fitting aptest words to things,
Or voice the richest-toned that sings.

Hath power to give thee as thou wert?

I care not in these fading days

To raise a cry that lasts not long,

And round thee svilh the breeze of song

To stir a little dust of praise.

io6

IN MEMORIAM.

Thy leaf has perish'd in the green,

And, while we breathe beneath the sun,
The world which credits what is done

Is cold to all that might have been.

So here shall silence guard thy fame ;
But somewhere, out of human view,
Whate'er thy hands are set to do

Is wrought with tumult of acclaim.

-./

IN MEMORIAM.

XOf

LXXVI.

AKE wings of fancy, and ascend,
And in a moment set thy face
Where all the starry heavens of space
Are sharpen'd to a needle's end j

Take wings of foresight ; lighten thro'
The secular abyss to come,
And lo, thy deepest lays are dumb

Before the mouldering of a yew ;

And if the matin songs, that woke
The darkness of our planet, last.
Thine own shall wither in the vast.

Ere half the lifetime of an oak.

Ere these have clothed their branchy bowers
With fifty Mays, thy songs are vain ;
And what are they wl- \ these remain

The ruin'd shells of hollcw toweis?

to8

IN AIEMORIAM.

LXXVII.

HAT hope is here for modern rliyme
To him, who turns a musing eye
On songs, andtlceds, and lives, that lie
Forcshorten'd in the tract of time ?

These mortal lullabies of pain

May bind a book, may line a box,
May serve to curl a maiden's locks j

Or when a thousand moons shall wane

A man upon a stall may find.

And, passing, turn the page that tells
A grief, then changed to something else.

Sung by a long-forgotten mind.

But what of that ? My darken'd ways
Shall ring with music all the same;
To breathe my loss is more than fame,

To utter love more sweet than praise.

IN M E MORI AM.

109

lie

LXXVIII.

GAIN at Chrlslnias did we weave
Tlie holly round tlie Christmas health;
The silent snow possess'd the earth,
And cahnly fell our Christmas-eve:

The yule-clog sparkled keen with frost,
No wing of wind ihc region swept.
But over all things brooding slept

The quiet sense of something lost.

As in the winters left behind,

Again our ancient games had place,
The mimic picture's breathing grace.

And dance and song and hoodman-blind.

Who show'd a token of distress ?

No single tear, no mark of pain:
O sorrow, then can sorrow wane ?

O grief, can grief be changed to less ?

»'

i:e

IN ME MORI AM.

m .

O last rej;ret, regret can die f

No — mixt with all this mystic frame,
Ilcr deep relations are the same,

But with long use her tears are dry.

IN MEMOlilAM.

LXXIX.

JORE than my bioUiers are to nie"

Let tliis not vex thee, noble heart !
I know thee of what force thou art
To hold the costliest love in fee.

But thou and I are one in kind,

As moulded like in nature's mint;
And hill and wood and field did print

The same sweet forms in either mind.

For us the same cold streamlet curl'd

Thro' all his eddying coves ; the same
All winds that roam the twilight came

In whispers of the beauteous worlrj.

112

IN MEMOK lAM,

At one dear knee we prolTer'd vows,

Uuc lesson from one book we learn'd,
Ere childhood's flaxen ringlet lurn'd

To black and brown on kindred tnows

And so my wealth resembles thine,
But he was rich where I was poor,
And he supplied my want the more

As his unlikeness fitted mine.

(

IN M EMOIUAM.

LXXX.

F any vague desire sliould rise,

That holy Death ere Arthur died
Had moved me kindly from his side.
And dropt the dust on tearless eyes ;

Then fancy shapes, as fancy can,

The grief my loss in him had wrought,
A grief as deep as life or thought.

But stay'd in peace with God and man.

I make a picture in the brain ;

I hear the sentence that he speaks ;

He bears the burthen of the weeks.
But turns his burthen into gain.

His credit thus shall set me free ;

And, influence-rich to soothe and save,
U nused example from the grave

Reach out dead hands to comfort me.

IN MEMORIAM,

LXXXI.

OULD I have said while he was here
•* My love shall now no further range j
There cannot come a mellower change,
For now is love mature in ear."

Love, then, had hope of richer store :
What end is here to my complaint?
This haunting whisper makes me faint,

** More years had made me love thee more.'*

But Death returns an answer sweet :

" My sudden frost was sudden gain,
And gave all ripeness to the grain,

It might have d»"awn from after-heat."

iN MEMORIAM.

LXXXII.

WAGE not any feud with Death
For changes wrought on form and face;
No lower Ufe that earth's embrace
May breed with him, can fright my faith.

Eternal process moving on,

From state to state the spirit walks ,
And these are but the shatter'd stalks,

Or ruin'd chrysalis of one.

Nor blame I Death, because he bare
The use of virtue out of earth :
I know transplanted human worth

"Will bloom to profit, otherwhere.

For this alone on Death I wreak

The wrath that garners in my heart ;
He put our lives so far apart

We cannot hear each other speak.

136

IN MEMORIAM*

LXXXIII.

IP down upon the noilhern shore,
O sweet new -year delaying long;
Thou doest expectant nature wrong j
Delaying long, delay no more.

What stays thee from the clouded noons,
Thy sweetness from its proper place ?
Can trouble live with April days,

Or sadness in the summer moons ?

Bring orchis, bring the foxglove spire,
The little speedwell's darling blue,
Deep tulips dash'd with fiery dew.

Laburnums, dropping-wells of fire.

O thou, new-year, delaying long,

Delayest the sorrow in my blood.
That longs to burst a frozen bud.

And flood a fresher throat with song.

W MEMORIAM.

tPJ

LXXXIV.

HEN I contemplate all alone

The life that had been thine below,
^ And fix my thoughts on all the glow
To which thy crescent would have grown ;

I see thee sitting crown'd with good,
A central wavmth diffusing bliss
In glance and smile, and clasp and kiss,

On all the branches of thy blood ;

Thy blood, my friend, and partly mine ;
For now the day was drawing on,
Wheti thou should'st link thy life with one

Of mine own house, and boys of thine

Had babbled " Uncle " on my knee ;
But that remorseless iron hour
Made cypress of her orange flower,

Despair of Hope, and earth of thee.

ii8

IN MEMORIAM,

I seem to meet their least desire,

To clap their cheeks, to call them mine
I see their unborn faces shine

Beside the never-lighted fire.

I see myself an honour'd guest,

Thy partner in the flowery walk
Of letters, genial table-talk.

Or deep dispute, and graceful jest;

While now thy prosperous labour fiL'.s
The lips of men with honest praise.
And sun by sun the happy days

Descend below the golden hills

With promise of a morn as fair;

And all the train of bounteous hours
Conduct by paths of growing powers,

To reverence and the silver hair;

IN ME MORI AM.

Till slowly worn her earthly robe,

Her lavish mission richly wrought,
Leaving great legacies of thought,

Thy spirit should fail from off the globe ;

What time mine own might also flee,
As linlc'd with thine in love and fate.
And, hovering o'er the dolorous strait

To the other shore, involved in thee,

Arrive at last the blessed goal,

And He that died in Holy Land
Would reach us out the shining hand,

And take us as a single soul.

What reed was that on which I leant ?
Ah, backward fancy, wherefore wake
The old bitterness again, and break

The low beginnings of content.

ISO

IN ME MORI AM.

(^'r>^-'f\'s

4^^

LXXXV.

1 1 IS truth came borne with bier and pall,
I felt it, when T sorrow'd most,

^Ml »Tis be

better to have loved and lost,

Than never to have loved at all-

O true in word, and tried in deed,
Demanding, so to bring relief
To this which is our common grief,

What kind of life is that I lead ;

And whether trust in things above

Be dimm'd of sorrow, or sustain'd ;
And whether love tor him have drain'd

My capabilities of love;

Your words have virtue such as draws
A faithful answer from the breast,
Thro' light reproaches, half exprestj

And loyal unto kindly laws.

pall.

IN MEHrORIAM.

My blood an even tenor kept,

Till on mine ear this message falls.
That in Vienna's fatal walls

God's finger touch'd him, and he slept.

The great Intelligences fair

That range above our mortal state,
In circle round the blessed gate,

Received and gave him welcome there;

las

n'd

And led him thro' the blissful climes,

And show'd him in the fountain fresh
All knowledge that the sons of flesh

Shall gaiher in the cycled times.

"^ But I remain'd, whose hopes were dim.

Whose life, whose thoughts were little worth,
To wander on a darken'd earth,
Where all things rounci me breathed of him. ,

IN MEMORIAM,

O friendship, equal-poised control,

O heart, with kindliest motion wr.mi,
O sacred essence, other form,

O solemn ghost, O crowned soul !

Yet none could better know than I,
How much of act at human hands
Tlie sense of human will demands
By which we dare to live or die.

Whatever way my days decline,
I felt and feel, tho' left alone,
j His being working in mine own,

The footsteps of his life in mine ;

§¥

III

A life that all the Muses deck'd

With gifts of grace, that might express
All-comprehensive tenderness,

All-subtilising intellect :

IN MEMO RF AM.

And so my passion hath not swerved
To works of weakness, but I find
An image comforting the mind,

And in my grief a strength reserved.

Likewise the imaginative woe,

That loved to handle spiritual strife,
Diffused the shock thro' all my life,

But in the present broke the blow

My pulses therefore beat again

For other friends that once I met;
Nor can it suit me to forget

The mighty hopes that make us men.

«ei

I woo your love : I count it crime
To moum for any overmuch ;
I, the divided half of such

A friendship as had master'd Time ;

«M

IN MEMORIAM.

Which masters Time indeed, and is
Eternal, separate from fears :
The all-assuming months and years

Can take no part away from this :

But Summer on the steaming floods,

And Spring that swells the narrow brooks,
And Autumn, with a noise of rooks,

That gather in the waning woods,

And every pulse of wind and wave

Recalls, in change of light or gloom,
My old a/Tcction of the tomb,

And my prime passion in the grave:

My old affection of the tomb,

A part of stillness, yearns to speak :
" Arise, and get thee forth and seek

A friendship for the years to come.

IN MEMORIAL.

I watch thee from the quiet shore ;

Thy spirit tip to mine can reach ;

But in dear words of human speech
We two communicate no more."

■••

And I, " Can clouds of nature stain
The starry clearness of the free ?
How is it ? Canst thou feel for me

Some painless sympathy with pain?"

And lightly does the whisper fall ;

♦«'Tis hard for thee to fathc.i this;

I triumph in conclusive bliss,
And that serene result of all."

So hold I commerce with the dead ;

Or so methinks the dead would say \
Or so shall grief with symbols play,

And pining life be fancy-fed

, Jl

126

I^ ME MORI AM.

Now looking to some settled end,

That these things pass, and I shall prove
A meeting somewhere, love ^\'^th love,

I crave your pardon, O my friend ;

If not so fresh, with love as true,
I, clasping brother-hands, aver
I could not, if I would, transfer

The whole I felt for him to you.

For which be they that hold apart
The promise of the golden hours ?
First love, first friendship, equal powers,

That marry with the virgin heart.

Still mine, that cannot but deplore.
That beats within a lonely place.
That yet remembers his embrace,

But at his footstep leaps no more,

IN MEMORIAL.

My heart, tlio' widow'd, may not rest
Quite in the love of what is gone,
But seeks to beat in time with one

That warms another hving breast.

127

Ah, take the imperfect gift I bring,
Knowing the primrose yet is dear,
The primrose of the Liter year,

As not unUke to tliat of Sjjring.

128

IN MEMORIAM.

LXXXVI.

WEET after showers, ambrosial air,
That rollest from the gorgeous gloom
Of evening over brake and bloom
And meadow, slowly breathing bare

The round of space, and rapt below
Thro' all the dewy-tassell'd wood,
And shadowmg down the horned flood

In ripples, fan my brows and blow

The fever from my cheek, and sigh

The full new life that feeds thy breath
Throughout my frame, till Doubt and Death,

111 brethren, let the fancy fly

From belt to belt of crimson seas

On leagues of odour streaming far,
To where in yonder orient star

A hundred spirits whisper " Peace."

XN MEM OR I AM.

LXXXVII.

199

PAST beside the reverend walls
In which of old I wore the gown ;
I roved at random thro' the town,
And saw the tumult of the halls ;

And heard once more in college fanes

The storm their high-built organs mnke.
And thunder-music, rolling, shake

The prophets blazon'd on the panes ;

And caught once more the distant shout.
The measured pulse of racing oars
Among the willows; paced the sjiores

And many a bridge, nnd all about

The same gray flats again, and felt

The same, but not the same ; and last
Up that long walk of limes 1 past

To see the rooms in which he dwelt.

130

IN MEMORIAM.

Another name was on the door :
I Hnger'd ; all within was noise
Of songs, and clapping hands, and boys

That crash'd the glass and beat the floor ;

Where once we held debate, a band

Of youthfvd friends, on mind and art,
And labour, and the changing mart,

And all the framework of the land ;

When one would aim an arrow fair,
But send it slackly from the string;
And one would pierce an outer ring.

And one an inner, here and there ;

And last the master-bowman, he,

Would cleave the mark. A willing ear
We lent him. Who, but hung to hear

The rapt oration flowing free

ar
,r

IN MEMORIAM.

From point to point, with power and grace
And music in the bounds of law,
To those conchisions when we saw

The God within him light his face.

And seem to lift the form, and glow
In azure orbits heavenly-wise;
And over those ethereal eyes

The bar of Michael Angelo.

i3t

139

IN MEMORIAM.

LXXXVIII.

' ^a>g>fcg^ lLD bird, whose warble, liquid sweet,

^MW£\ Rings Eden thro' the budded quicks,

:j£^^J O tell me where the senses mix,
O tell me where the passions meet.

Whence radiate : fierce extremes employ
Thy spirits in the darkening leaf,
And in the midmost heart of grief

Thy passion clasps a secret joy :

/^nd I— my harp would prelude woe—
I cannot all command the strings ;
The glory of the sum of things

Will flash along the chords and go.

IN MEMOK lAM.

LXXXIX.

ITCII-ELMS that countercliange the
floor
Of this flat lawn with dusk and bright ;
And Ihou, with all thy breadth and height
Of foliage, towering syeamore ;

How often, hither wandering down,

My Arthur found your shadows fair,
And shook to all the liberal air

The dust and din and steam of town :

He brought an eye for all he saw ;

He mixt in all our simple sports ;

They pleased him, fresh from brawling courtfj
And dusty purlieus of the law.

It).

«34

IN MEMORIAM

O joy to him in this retreat,

Immantled in ambrosial dark,
To drink the cooler air, and mark

The landscape winking thro' the heat :

O sound to rout the brood of cares,

The sweep of scythe in morning dew,
The ^ist that round the garden (lew,

And tumbled half the mellowing pears !

O bliss, when all in circle drawn

About him, heart and ear were fed
To hear him, as he lay arid read

The Tuscan poets on the lawn :

Or in the all-golden afternoon

A giiest, or happy sister, sung,

Or here she brought the harp and flung

A ballad to the briightemng moon :

IN MEMORIAM.

Nor less it pleased in livelier moods,
Beyond the bounding hill to stray,
And break the livelong summer day

With banquet in the distant woods ;

135

Whereat we glanced from theme to theme,
Discuss'd the books to love or hate.
Or touch'd the changes of the state,

Or tlireailed some Socratic dream ;

But if I praised the busy town,

lie loved to rail against it still,
For " ground in yonder social mill

We rub each oth.er's angles down.

flung

And merge " he said " in form and gloss
The picturesque of man and man."
We talk'd : the stream beneath us ran,

The winc-llask lying couch'd in moss,

!••"

M
i

ill

136

IN MEMOKIAM

Or cool'd within the glooming wave;
And last, returning from afa',
Before the crimson-circled star

Had fall'n into her father's grave,

And brushing ankle-deep in flowers,
We heard behind the woodbine veil
The milk lluil bubbled in the pail,

And buzzings of the honied hours.

^^-

IN ME MORI AM.

*9t

XC.

"^X'/^v^ ^' lastctl love with half his mind.

Nor ever drank the inviohite

spi-in<,T

Where nitjhest heaven, who first could Hing
This bitter seed anionj; mankind ;

That could the dead, whose dying eyes

Were closed with wail, resume their life,
They would but find in child and wife

An iron welcome when they rise :

'Twas well, indeed, when warm with wine,
To pledge them with a kindly tear,
To talk them o'er, to wish them here,

To count their memories half divine;

138

IN M F.MORI AM,

Ikit if llicy came who past away,

Behold their brides in other hands ;
Th^ hard heir strides about their lands,

And will not yield them for a day.

Yea, tho' their sons were none of these,

Not lefvs the yet -loved sire would make
Confusion worse than death, and shake

The pillars of domestic peace.

Ah dear, but come thou back to me :

Whatever change the years have wrought,
1 find not yet one lone'y thought

That cries against my wish for thee.

IN Af EM OK /AM.

XCI.

51 11 EN rosy plumelets tuft the larcli

And rarely pipes the mounted thrush ;
the barren bush
' of March ;

Flits by the sen

Come, wear the form by which I know
Thy spirit in time among thy peers ;
The hope of unaccomplish'd years

Be large and lucid round thy brow.

When summer's hourly-mellowing change
May breathe, with many roses sweei,
Upon tlie thousand waves of wheat,

That ripple round the lonely grange ;

Come : not in watches of the night.

But where the sunbeam broodeth warm,
Come, beauteous in thine after form,

And like a finer light in light.

340

IN MEMORIAM,

XCII.

F any vision should reveal

Thy likeness, I mi^^ht count it vain
^ As but the canker of the brain ;
Yea, tho' it spake and made appeal

To chances where our lots were cast
Together in the days behind,
I might but say, I hear a wind

Of memory murmuring the past.

Yea, tho' it spake and bared to view
A fact within the coming year ;
And tho' the months, revolving near,

Should prove the phantom-warning true.

They might not seem thy prophecies,
But spiritual presentiments,
And such refraction of events

As often rises ere they rise

/■JV MEMORIAM.

»4»

XCTII.

SHALL not see thee. Dare I say
No spirit ever brake the band
iJl^'^\ That stays him from the native hmd
Where first he walk'd when claspt in clay ?

No visual shade of some one lost,

But he, the Spirit himself, may come
Where all the nerve of sense is numb ;

Spirit to Spirit, Ghost to Ghost.

O, therefore from thy sij^htless range
With gods in uuconjectured bliss,
O, from the distance of the abyss

Of tenfold-complicated change,

Descend, and touch, and enter ; liear

The wish too strong for words to namo ;
That in this blindness of the frame

My Ghost ma}' feel that thine is near.

14a

IN ME MORI AM.

XCIV.
OVV pure at heart and sound in head,
With what divine affections bold
Should be the man whose thought
would hold
An hour's communion with the dead.

In vain shalt thou, or any, call

The spirits from their golden day,
Except, like them, thou too canst say,

My spirit is at peace with all.

Tliey haunt the silence of the breast,
Imaginations calm and fair.
The memory like a cloudless air,

The conscience as a sea at rest :

But when the heart is full of din.

And doubt beside the portal waits,
They can but listen at the gates,

And hear the household jar within.

IN MERIOKIAM.

143

xcv.

Y night we linger'd on the lawn,
For underfoot the herb was dry ;
And genial warmth ; and o'er the sky
The silvery haze of summer drawn ;

And calm that let the tapers burn

Unwavering: not a cricket chirr'd :
The brook alone far-off was heard,

And on the board the fluttering urn :

And bats went round in fragrant skies,
And wheel'd or lit the filmy shapes
That haunt the dusk, with ermine capes

And woolly breasts and beaded eyes ;

While now we sang old songs that peal'd

From knoll to knoll, where, couch'd at ease
The white kine glimmer'd, and the trees

Laid their dark arms about the field.

<44

IN ME MORI A M.

But when those others, one by one,

Withdrew themselves from me and night,
And in the house light after light

Went out, and I was all alone,

A hunger seized my heart ; I read

Of that glad year which once had been,

In those fall'n leaves which kept their green,

The noble letters of the dead :

And strangely on the silence broke

The silent-speaking words, and strange
Was love's dumb cry defying change

To test his worth ; and strangely spoke

The faith, the vigour, bold to dwell

On doubts that drive the coward back,
And keen thro' wordy snares to track

Snr^cestion to her inmost cell.

^t,

[N MEMORIAM.

So word by word, and line by line,

The dead man touch'd me from the past,
And all at once it seem'd at last

His living soul was flash'd on mine,

t45

ireen.

And mine in his was wound, and whirl'd
About empyreal heights of thought,
And came on that which is, and caught

The deep pulsations of the world,

iEonian music measuring out

The steps of Time— the shocks of Chance—
The blows of Death. Af length my trance

Was cancell'd, stricken thro' with doubt.

Vague words ! but ah, how hard to frame
In matter-moulded forms of speech,
Or ev'n for intellect to reach

Thro' memory that which I became :

14^

IN MEMORIAM.

Till now the doubtful dusk reveal'd

The knolls once more where, couch'd at ease,
The white kine glimmer'd, and the trees

Laid their dark arms about the field :

And suck'd from out the distant gloom
A breeze began to tremble o'er
The large leaves of the sycamore,

And fluctuate all the still perfume,

And gathering freshlier overhead,

Rock'd the fuU-foliaged elms, and swung
The heavy-folded rose, and flung

The lilies to and fro, and said

*• The dawn, the dawn," and died away;
And East and West, without a breath,
Mixt their dim lights, like life and death,

To broaden into boundless day

IN MEMORIAM.

147

ease,

XCVL

OU say, but with no touch of scorn,
SweeMieartcd, you, whose light-blue
eyes

Are tender over drowning fiies,
You tell me, doubt is Devil-born.

I know not : one indeed 1 knew

In many a subtle question versed,
Who touch'd a jarring; lyre at firsts

But ever strove to make it true :

Perplext in faith, but pure in deeds.
At last he beat his music out.
There lives more faith in honest doubt,

Believe me, than in half the creeds.

H'l^^g; %

148

IN MEMORlAI^l.

He fouf^ht his doubts and gallicr'd strength,
He would not make his judgment bUnd,
He faced the spectres of the mind

And laid them : thus he came at length

To find a stronger faith his own ;

And Power was with him in the night,
Which makes the darkness and tlic light,

And dwells not in the light alone,

But in the darkness and the cloud,
As over Sinai's peaks of old,
While Israel made their gods of gold,
Altlio' the trumpet blew so loud.

IN MEMORIAM.

^^a

XCVII.

Y love has talk'd with rocks and trees ;
He finds on misty mountain-ground
His own vast shadow glory-crown'd ;
He sees himself in all he sees.

ii.

Two partners of a married life—

I look'd on these and thought of thee
In vastness and in mystery,

And of my spirit as of a wife.

These two— they dwelt with eye on eye,
Their hearts of old have beat in tune,
Their meetin,;- >r>ade December June,

Their every pariL; / v s to die.

.1*.

tjO IN MEMORIAM.

Their love has never past away ;
The days slie never can foiL^et
Are earnest that he loves her yet,

Whate'er the faithless people say.

Her life is lone, he sits apart,

He loves her yet, she will nut weep,
Tho' rapt in matters dark and deep

He seems to slight her simple heirt.

He thrids the labyrinth of the mind,
He reads the secret of the star,
He seems so near and yet so far,

He looks so cold: she thinks him kind.

She keeps the gift of years before,
A wither'd violet is her bliss :
She knows not what his greatness is;

For that, for all, she loves him more.

IN ME MORI AM. S5B

For him she plays, to him she sings
Of early f.;ilh and phghtal vows;
She knows but matters of the house,

And he, he knows a thousand ihini^s.

Her faith is fixt and cannot love,

She darkly feels him great and wise,
She dwells on him with faithful eyes,

*• I cannot umlersland : 1 love."

<SS

IN MEMUKIAM.

XCVIII.

()U leave us: you will sec the Rhine,
And those fair hills I sail'd below,
When I was there with him ; and go
By summer belts of wheal and vine

To where he breathed his latest breath,
That City. All her splendour seems
No livelier than the wisp that fleams

On Lethe in the eyes of Death.

Let her great Danube rolling fair

Enwind her isles, unmark'd of me :
I have not seen, I will not see

Vienna ; rather dream that there,

A treble darkness, Evil haunts

The birth, the bridal; friend from friend
Is oftene arted, fathers bend

Above more graves, a thousand wants

IN AtCAIO ' ' M.

IS3

ihine,
ilow,
and go

th,
eems

loams

ne:

)m friend

its

Gnarr at the heels of ni-.n, aiu' prc'y

Hy each cold heart :\'vl sadness flings
Her shadow on the blaze of kings:

And yet myself have heard him say,

That not in any mother town

With statelier progress to and fro
The double tides of chariots flow

By park and suburb under brown

Of lustier leaves ; nor more content,
He told me, lives in any crowd,
When all is gay with lamps, and loud

With sport and song, in booth and tent.

Imperial halls, or open plain ;

And wheels the circled dance, and breaks

The rocket molten into flakes
Of crimson or in emerald rain.

>54

IN MEMORIAM.

XCIX.

ISEvST thou thus, (Um dawn, again,
So loud wiih voices of the birds,
So thick with lowings of the herds,
Day, wlien I lost the flower of men ;

Who tremblest thro' thy darkling red

On yon swoll'n brook that bubbles fast
By meadows breathing of the past,

And woodlands holy to the dead ;

Who murmurest in the foliaged eaves
A song that slights the coming care,
And Autumn laying here and there

A fiery finger on the leaves ;

IN MEMOK/AM.

Who waken est willi thy bahiiy breath
To myriads on tlie genial earth,
Memories of bridal, or of birth,

And unto myriads more, of death.

O wheresoever those may be,

Betwixt the slumber of the poles,
To-day they count as kindred souls ;

They know me not, but mourn with me

>ss

X56

IN MEMORIAM,

CLTMB the hill : from end to end
Of all the landscape underneath,
I find no place that docs not breathe

Some f^racious memory of my friend;

No gray old grange, or lonely fold,

Or low morass and whispering rccd,
Or simple stile from mead to mead,

Or sheepwalk up the windy wold ;

Nor hoary knoll of ash and haw

That hears the latest linnet trill.
Nor quany trench'd along the hill.

And haunted by the wrangling daw;

IN MEMORIAM.

157

Nor ninlet tinkling from the rock;
Nor pastoral rivulet that swerves
To left and rinjht thro' meadowy curves,

That feed the motlicrs of the ilock j

But each has pleased a kindred eye,
And each reflects a kindlier day;
And, leaving these, to pass away,

I think once more he seems to die.

li^'

«58

IN MEMORJAM.

CI.

NWATCII'D, the garden bough shalJ
sway, .
The tender bk)ssom flutter down,
Unloved, that beech will gather brown,
This maple burn itself away;

Unloved, the sun-flower, shining fair,

Ray round with flames her disk of seed,
And many a ro scarnation feed

With summer spice the humming air ;

Unloved, by many a sandy bar,

The brook shall babble down the j)lain,
At noon or when the lesser wain

fs twisting round the polar star;

IN MEMORIAM.

Uncared for, gird tlie windy grove,

And flood the haunts of hem 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 labourer tills

His wonted glebe, or lops the glades ,
And year by year our memory fades

From all the circle of the hills.

159

1!^^^^

IN MEMORIAL]

CII.

E leave the wcll-belovcd place

Where first we gazed upon the sky ;
The roofs, that heard our earliest cry,
Will shelter one of stranger race.

We go, but ere we go from home,

As down the garden-walks I move,
Two spirits of a diveise love

Contend for loving mastcrdom.

One whispc'.:, here thy boyhood sun,?
Long since its matin song, and i.ojrd
The low Iove-Iangi:age of the bird

In native hazels tassel -hung.

iN MEMORIAM.

The other answers, *' Yea, but here
Thy feet have stray'd in after hours
With thy lost frienil among the bowci^s,

And thia hath made thern trebly dear."

These two have striven half the day,

And each prefers his separate claim,
Poor rivals in a losing game,

That will not yield each other way.

I turn to go : my feet are set

To leave the pleasant fields and farms;

They mix in one another's anns
To one pure image of regret.

i«i

s6>

IN MEMORIAM

cm.

N that hst night before we went

From out the doors where 1 wns bred,
1 (Ircam'd a vision of the dead,

Which UTt my after morn content.

Methought I dwelt within a hall,

And maidens with me : distant hills
From hidden summits fed with rills

A fiver sliding by the wall.

The hall with harp and carol rang.

They sang of what is wise and good
And graceful. In the centre stood

A statue veil'd, to which they sang;

IN MEMOKIAM,

And which, tho' veil'd, was known to me,
The shape of him I loved, and love
For ever : then flew in a dove

And brought a summons from the sea ;

t6i

red,

And when they learnt that I must go

They wept and wail'd, but led the way
To where a little shallop lay

At anchor in the flood below ;

And on by many a level mead.

And shadowing bluff that made the banks.
We glided winding under ranks

Of iris, and the golden reed;

And still as vaster grew the shore,

And roll'd the floods in grander space,
The maidens gather'd strength and grace

And presence, lordlier than before ;

lip'!!'" '"'

a64

IN MEMORIAM,

And I myself, who sat apart

And watch'd llicm, wax'd in every limb;

I felt the thews of Anakim,
The pulses of a Titan's ht art ;

As one would sing the death of war,
And one would chant the history
Of that i;rcat race, which is to be^

And one the ' iping of a sta ;

Until the forward -creeping tidos

Began to foam, and vve to draw
From deep to deep, wl wc saw

A great ship lift her shin -

The man we loved was there on deck.
But thrice as large as man he bent
To greet us. Up the side I went,

And fell in silence on his neck :

IN MEMORIAM.

i6s

Whereat those maidens \ ah one mind

I'owail'd their lot; I did them wrong:

•• We served thee here," they said, "so long,

And wilt thou leave us now behind ?"

So rapt I was, they could not win
\n answer from my lips, but he
jil mg, ** Enter likewise ye
And go Willi us : " they enter'd in.

And while the wind bc.!;an to sweep
A music out of b jt and shroud,
We steer'd her towai ' a crimson cloud

That landlike si" ' '^ \i the deep.

~?_-^i

^ Wiil!

IN MEMOKIAM.

CIV.

•^'^vcat HE time draws near the birth of Chtiat;
The moon is hid, the night is still;
A single church below the hill
Is pealing, folded in the mist.

A single peal of bells below,

That wakens at this hour of rest

A single murmur in the breast,
That these are not the bells I know.

Like strangers' voices here they sou 1,
In lands where not a memory strays,
Nor landmark breathes of other days,

But all is new unhallow'd ground.

IN MEMORIAM,

167

of Chtiat ;
is still ;
lill

»»

CV.

O-NIflHT ungatlicr'tl let us leave
This laurel, let this liolly stand:
We live within the stranger's land,
And strangely falls our Christinas eve.

Our father's dust is left alone

And silent under other snows :

There in due time the woodbine blows,

The violet comes, but \\ c are gone.

No more shall wayward grief abuse

The genial hoar with mask and mime;
For change of j)lace, like growth of time,

lias broke the bond of dying use.

ill

i68

IN M EMORIAM.

Let cares that petty shadows cast,

By which our lives arc chiefly proved,
A little spare the night I loved,

And hold it solemn to the past.

But let no footstep beat the floor,

Nor bowl of wassail mantle warm ;
For who would keep an ancient form

Thro' which the spirit breathes no more ?

Be neither song, nor game, nor feast ;

Nor harp be touch'd, nor flute be blown ;

No dance, no motion, save alone
What lightens in the lucid east

Of rising worlds by yonder wood.

Long sleeps the summer in the seed ;

Run out youi measured arcs, and lead
Tlie closing cycle rich in good.

JN MEMORIAW.

169

ed,

CVI.

lown;

TNG out, wild bells, to the wild sky,
The Hying cloud, the frosty light :
Tiie year is dying in the night ;

Ring out, wild bells, and let him die.

Ring out the old, ring in the new,

Ring, happy bells, across the snow :
The year is going, let him go ;

Ring out the false, ring in the true.

Ring out the grief that saps the mind,
For those that here we see no more;
Ring out the feud of rich and poor,

Ring in redress to all mankind.

cad

Ring out a slowly dying cause,

And ancient forms of party strife;
Ring in the nobler modes of life,

With sweeter manners, \)\xxqx laws.

iii'

170

IN MEMO R I AM.

Ring out the want, the care, the sin,
The faithless coldness of the times ;
Ring out, ring out my mournful rhymes,

But ring the fuller minstrel in.

Ring out false pride in place and blood,
The civic slander and the spite ;
Ring in the love of truth and right,

Rmg in the common love of good.

Ring out old shapes of foul disease ;

Ring out the narrowing lust of gold;

Ring out the thousand wars of old,
Ring in the thousand years of peace.

Ring in the valiant man and free,

The larger heart, the kindlier hand;
Ring out the darkness of the land.

Ring in the Christ that is to be.

/A MEMORIAM,

171

) I

CVII.

,T is the (lay when he was born,
A bitter day that early sank
Behind a puqile-frosty bank
Of vapour, leaving nighi forlorn.

The time admits not {lowers or leaves
To deck the banquet. Fiercely (lies
The blast of North and East, and ice

Makes daggers at the sharpen'd eaves,

And bristles all the brakes and thorns
To yon hard crescent, as she hangr.
Above the wood which grides and clangs

Its leafless ribs and iron horns

I >

179

/N MEMORIAM.

Together, in the drifts that pass

To darken on the rolling brine

That breaks the coast. But fetch the wine.
Arrange the board and brim the glass ;

Bring in great logs and let them lie,

To make a solid core of heat ;

Be cheerful-minded, talk and treat
Of all things ev'n as he were by i

We keep the day. With festal cheer,
With books and music, surely we
Will .i'^ak to him, whate'er he be,

And sing the songs he loved to hear.

IN MEMORIAM.

173

CVIII.

WILL not shut nie from my kincl^
And, lest I slilTcn into stone,
I will not cat my heart alone,

Nor feed with sighs a passing wind :

What profit lies in barren faith,

And vacant yearning, tho' with might
To scale the heaven's liighcst height,

Or (live below the wells of Death ?

Vv'hat find I in the highest place.

But mine own phantom chanting hymns ?

And on the depths of death there swims
The reflex oi" a iiuman face,

I'll rather take what fruit may be
Of sorrow under human skies:
'Tis held that sorrow makes us wise,

V/hatcver wisdom sleep with thee.

I i

( 1 1

174

IN MEMOIilAM.

CIX.

E ART- AFFLUENCE in discursive talk
From household fountains never dry;
The critic clearness of an eye,
'^hat saw thro' all the Muses' walk;

Serapliic intellect and force

To seize and throw the doubts of lanj
Impassion'd logic, which outran

The hearer in its fiery course ;

High nature amorous of the good.

But touch'd with no ascetic gloom ;
And passion pure in snowy bloom

Thro' all the years of April blood ;

iisiP

' If IP

ili'iliiif

IF MEMORIAM. 175

A love of freedom rarely felt,
Of freedom in her regal seat
Of England ; not the schoolboy heat,

The blind hysterics of the Celt ;

And man'u.od fused with female grace
In such u • .)rt, the child would twine
A trustful hand, unask'd, in thine,

And find his comfort in thy ^ace ;

All these have been, and thee mine eyes
Have look'd on : if they look'd in vain,
My shame is greater who remain,

Nor let thy wisdom make me wise.

M^^

176

IN MEMORIAM.

ex.

II Y converse drew us with delight,
The men of rathe and riper years:
The feeble soul, a haunt of fears,
Forgot his weakness in thy sight.

On thee the loyal-hearted hung,

The proud was half disarm'd of \)ridc.
Nor cared the serpent at thy side

To llicker with his double tongue.

The stern were mild when thou wert by.
The flippant put himself to school
And heard thee, and the brazen fool

Was soften'd, and he knew not why

IN MEMORIAM.

177

While I, thy dearest, sat apart,

And felt thy triumph was as mine ;

And loved them more, that they were thine,

The gracelul tact, the Christian art ;

Nor mine the sweetness or the skill,
But mine the love that will not tire,
And, born of love, the vague desire

That spurs an imitative will

^|,1IE churl in spirit, up or down

Along the scale of ranks, tliro' all,
To him who grasps a golden ball,

By blood a king, at heart a clown;

The churl in spirit, howe'er he veil

His want in forms for fashion's sake,
Will let his coltish nature break

At seasons thro' the gilded pale :

For who can always act? but he,

To whom a thousand memories call,
Not being less but more than all

The gentleness he seem'd to be.

/A- MEMOKIAM.

iiest seem'd the thing he was, and join'd
':ach office of the social hour
To noble manners, as the flower

And native growth of noble mind ;

179

iro' all,

Nor ever narrowness or spite,
Or villain fancy fleeting by,
Drew in the expression of an eye,

Where God and Nature met in light;

And thus he bore witV .it abuse

The grand old name of gentleman,
Defamed by every charlatan,

And soil'd with all ignoble use.

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IN MEMORIAM

CXII.

TGH wisdom holds my wisdom less,
That I, who gaze with temperate eyes
On glorious insufficiencies,
Set light by narrower perfectness.

But thou, that fillest all the room

Of all my love, art reason why

I seem to cast a careless eye
On souls, the lesser lords of doom.

For what wert thou ? some novel power
Sprang up for ever at a touch,
And hope could never hope too much,

In watching thee from hour to hour,

Large elements in order brought,

And tracts of calm from tempest made.
And world-wide fluctuation sway'd

In vassal tides that foUow'd thought.

IN MEM OR I AM.

x8i

cxm.

IS held that sorrow makes us wise ;
Yet how much wisdom sleeps with thee
Which not alone had guided me.
But served the seasons that may rise ;

For can I doubt, who knew thee keen
In intellect, with force and skill
To strive, to fashion, to fulfil —

I doubt not what thou wouldst have been :

A life in civic action warm,

A soul on highest mission sent,
A potent voice of Parliament,

A pillar steadfast in the storm,

Should licensed boldness gather force,
Becoming, when the time has birth,
A lever to uplift the earth

And roll it in another course,

j^ IN MEMORIAM,

With thousaiia shocks that come and go,
With agonies, with energies,
With ovcrthrowings, and with cries,
And undulations to and fro.

ii I

nd go,

1 cries,

IN MEMO HI AM.

«83

CXIV

HO loves not Knowledge? Who shall rail
Against her beauty i May she mix
=1 With men and prosper ! Who shall fix
Her pillars? Let lier work \ . o',

But on her forehead sits a fire :

She sets her forward countenance
And leaps into the future chance,

Submitting all things to desire.

Half-grown as yet, a child, and vain —
She cannot fight the fear of death.
What is she, cut from love and faith,

But some wild Pallas from the brain

IN MEMORIAM.

Of Demons ? fiery-hot to burst

All barriers in her onward race

For power. Let her know her place ;

She is the second, not the first.

A higher hand must make her mild.
If all be not in vain ; and guide
Her footsteps, moving side by side

With wisdom, like the younger child:

For she is earthly of the mind,

But Wisdom heavenly of the soul.
O, friend, who camest to thy goal

So eraly, leaving me behind,

I would the great world grew like thee,
Who grewest not alone in power
And knowledge, but by year and hour

In reverence and in charity.

IN ME MO HI AM.

i«5

er place j

W.
ide

)y side
hild:

cxv.

OW fades the last long streak of snow,
Now burgeons every maze of quick
About the flowering squares, and thiclr
By ashen roots the violets blow.

I soul,
ygoal

Now rings the woodland loud and long,
The distance takes a lovelier hue,
And drown'd in yonder living blue

The lark becomes a sightless sonjr.

%'
'*•'

Ice thee,

power

ar and hour

Now dance the lights on lawn and lea.
The flocks are whiter down the vale,
And milkier every milky sail

On winding stream or distant sea ;

186

/N ME MO HI AM.

Where now the seamcvv pipes, or dives

In yonder greening gleam, and ily
The happy birds, that change their sky

To build and brood ; that live their lives

From land to land ; and in n\y breast

Spring wakens too ; and my regret
Becomes an April violet,
And buds and blossoms like the rest.

IN MEMORIAM

187

fly

heir sky
kres

-gret

CXVI.

;p0i S it, then, regret for buried time

That keenlier in sweet April wakes,
And meets the year, and gives and takes
The colours of the crescent prime?

Not all : the songs, the stirring air.
The life re-orient out of dust,
Cry thro' the sense to hearten trust

In that which made the world so fair.

Not all regret : the face will shine
Upon me, while 1 muse alone;
And that dear voice, I once have known
Still speak to me of me and mine :

Yet less of sorrow lives in me

For days of happy commune dead ;
Less yearning for the friendship tied.

Than some strong bond which is to be.

IN MEMOKIAM.

CXVIT.

DAYS and hours, your work is this,
To hold me from my proper place,
A little while from his embrace,
For fuller gain of after bliss :

That out of distance might ensue

Desire of nearness doubly sweet;
And unto meeting when we meet.

Delight a hundredfold accrue,

For every grain of sand that runs,

And every span of shade that steals.
And every kiss of toothed wheels.

And all the courses of the suns.

IN MEM OK /AM.

189

rk is this,
)per place,
iiibrace,

/eet;
meet,

CXVITI.

ONTEMPLATE all this work of Time,
The giant labouring inhis youth;
Nor dream of human love and truth,
As dying Nature's earth and lime;

But tniG I hat those we call the dead
Are breathers of an ampler day
For ever nobler ends. They say,

The solid earth whereon we tread

It steals,
i^heels,

In tracts of fluent heat began.

And grew to seemmg-random forms,
The seeming prey of cyclic storms,

Till at the last arose the man j

190

IN MEMORIAM.

Who throve and branch'd from clime to clime,
The herald of a higher race,
And of himself in higher place,

If so he type this work of time

Within himself, from more to more;
Or, crown'd with attributes of woe
Like glories, move his course, and show

That life is not as idle ore,

But iron dug from central gloom.

And heated hot with burning fears,
And dipt in baths of hissing tears,

And batter'd with the shocks of doom

To shaoe and use. Arise and (ly

The reeling Fatm, the sensual feast ;
Move upward, working out the beast.
And let the ape and tiger die.

iN ME MORI AM,

191

^2>?^Av,f

CXIX.

00 RS, where my heart was used to beat
So quickly, not as one that weeps
l^. >^kr4Wj J ^;ome once more; the city sleeps;
I smell the meadow in the street ;

I hear a chirp of bit Js ; I see

Betwixt the black fronts lon^j-vvithdrawn
A light-blue lane of early dawn,

And think of early days and thee,

And bless thee, for thy lips are bland

And bright the friendship of thine eye;
And in my thoughts with scarce a sigh

I take the pressure of thine hand.

>^:p'^b^=^

ig2

IN MEMORIAM,

CXX.

TRUST I have not wasted breath:
I think we are not wholly brain,
Magnetic mockeries ; not in vain,

Like Paul with beasts, I fought with Death ;

Not only cunning casts in clay :

Let Science prove we are, and then
What matters Science unto men,

At least to me ? I would not stay.

Let him, the wiser man who springs
Hereafter, up from childhood shape
His action like the greater ape,

But 1 was born to other things.

^-^1^^^^

iN MEMORIAM

193

ireath :
rain,
I vain,
h Death ;

[ then
en,

shape

»e.

CXXI.

AD Ilesper o'er the buried sun

And ready, tliou, to die with him,
Thou vvatchest all things ever dim
And dimmer, and a glory done :

The team is loosen'd from the wain.
The boat is drawn upon the shore ;
Thou listenest to the closing door,

And life is darken'd in the brain.

Bright Phosphor, fresher for the night.

By thee the world's great work is heard
Beginning, and the wakeful bird •

Behind thee comes the greater light :

IN MEMORIAM.

market boat is on the stream,
And voices hail it from the brink ;
Thou hear'st the village hammer cUnk,
And see'st the moving of the team.

Sweet Hesper-Phosphor. double name
For what is one. the first, the last,
Ihou, like my present and my past,

Thy place is changed; thou art the same.

. 4^*si^**^ ■

IN MEMORIAM.

195

ink ;

ner clink,

lame
I last,
\y past,
tie same.

CXXII.

H, wast thou with me, dearest, then,
While I rose up against my doom,
And yearn'd to burst the folded gloom,
To bare the eternal Heavens again.

To feel once more, in placid awe,
The strong imagination roll
A sphere of stars about my soul,

In all her motion one with law ;

If thou wert with me, and the grave
Divide us not, be witli me now,
And enter in at breast and brow,

Till all my blood, a fuller wave.

iqC

IN MEMORIAM.

Be quicken'd wilh a livelier breath.
And like an inconsiderate bey,
As in the former flash of joy,

I slip the thoughts of life and death;

And all the breeze of Fancy blows,

And every dew-drop paints a bow,
The wizard lightnings deeply glow,

And every thought breaks out a rose.

IN MEMORIAM.

197

bow,
glow,
ose.

CXXIII.
HERE rolls the deep where grew the

tree.

O earth, what changes hast thou seen!
There where the long street roars, hath been
The stillness of the central sea.

The hills are shadows, and they flow

From form to form, and nothing stands;
They melt like mist, the solid lands,
Like clouds they shape themselves and go.

But in my spirit will I dwell,

And dream my dream, and hold it true.
For tho' my lips may breathe adieu,

I cannot think the thing farewell.

/^^S^^SN

IN MEMORIAM.

CXXIV.

iHAT which we dare invoke to bless;
Our dearest faith ; our ghastliest
doubt;
He, They. One, All; within, without;
The Power in darkness whom we jjuess;

found Him not in world or sun,
Or eagle's wing, or insect's eye;
Nor thro' the questions men may try.
The petty cobwebs we have spun :

e'er when faith had fall'n asleep,
I heard a voice "believe no more"

And heard an ever-breaking shore
That tumbled in the Godless deep;

\ I

IN MEMORIAM.

A warmth within the breast would melt
The freezing reason's colder part,
And like a man in wrath the heart

Stood up and answer'd " I have felt."

(99

) bless;

rhastliest

without;
;uess ;

may try,

No, like a child in doubt and fear :

But that blind clamour made me wise ;
Then was I as a child that cries,

But, crying, knows his father near ;

And what 1 am beheld again

What is, and no man understands ;
And out of darkness came the hands

That reach thro' nature, moulding men.

p.
more

• shore

'■^

aoo

/iV MEMORfAM.

CXXV.

IIATEVER I have said or sung,
Some bitter notes my harp would give
Yea, tho' there often seeui'd to live
A contradiction on the tongue,

Yet Hope had never lost her youth ;

She did but look through dimmer eyes ;

Or Love but play'd with gracious lies,
Because he felt so fix'd in truth :

And if the song were full of care,

lie breathed the spirit of the song ;
And if the words were sweet and strong

He set his royal signet there ;

Abiding with me till I sail

To seek thee on the mystic deeps,
And this electric force, that keeps
A thousand pulses dancing, fail.

IN MEMORIAM.

CXXVI.

OVE is and was my Lord and King,
And in his presence I altend
To hear the tidings of my friend
Which every hour his couriers bring.

Love is and was my King and Lord,
And will be, tho' as yet I keep
Within his court on earth, and sleep

Encompass'd by his faithful guard.

And hear at times a sentinel

Who moves about from place to place,
And whispers to the worlds of space,

In the deep night, that all is well.

^^4^

'=«

to*

tN MEMORIAL'

cxxvn.

ND all is well, tho' faith and form
Be sunder'd in the night of fear ;
Well roars the storm to those tliat hear
A deeper voice across the storm,

Proclaiming social truth shall spread,
And justice, ev'n tho' thrice again
The red fool-fury of the Seine

Should pile her barricades with dead.

But ill for him that wears a crown,
And him, the lazar, in his rags :
They tremble, tiie sustaining crags j

The spires of ice are topi)led down,

/.V nrEMOR I AM.

And molten up, and roar in flood ;

Tlic fortress crashes from on liigli,
The brute earth Hghtens to the sky,

And the^reat i^on sinks in blood,

And compass'd by the fires of Hell ;
While thou, dear spirit, hap])y star,
O'erlouk'st the tumult from afar,

And smilest, knowing all is well.

103

'■I'll

104

IN MEMORIAM*

CXXVIII.

HE love thai rose on stronger wingL,
Unpalsied when he met with Death,
Is comrade of the lesser faith
That sees the course of human things.

No doubt vast eddies in the flood

Of onward ^hr.^ ;hali yet be muvlc,
And throned races may degrade j

Yet O ye mysteries of good,

Wild Hours that fly with Hope and Fear,
If all your office had to do
With old results that look like new j

If this were all your mission here,

IN MEMORIAM.

To draw, lo sheathe a u.seless sword,

To fool tlie crowd with glorious Hes,
To cleave a creed in sects rmd cries.

To change the bearing of a word .

To shift an arbitrary power,

To cramp the student at his desk,
To make old bareness pictures! ue

And tuft with grass a feudal tower j

Why then my scorn might well desceiiid
On you and yours. I see in part
That all, as in some piece of art,

Is toil cooperant to an end.

■Of

20b

IN MEM OR I AM.

CXXIX.

^EAR friend, far off, my lost desire,
So far, so near in woe and weal ;
O loved the most, when most 1 feel
There is a lower and a higher;

Known and unknown; human,. divine;

Sweet human hand and lips and eye ;

Dear heavenly friend that canst not die,
Mine, mine, for ever, ever mine ;

Strange friend, past, present, and to be;

Loved deeplier, darklior understood ;

Behold, I dream a dream of good.
And mingle all the world with thee.

-m^

/.V ME MORI AM.

9aj

cxxx.

II Y voice is on the rolling an ;
I hear thee where the waters

run

Thou stand est in the rising sun,
And in the setting thou art fair.

What art thou then ? I cannot guess ;
But tho' I secn-i in star and flower
To feel thee some diffusive power,

I do not therefore love thee less :

My love involves the love before ;

My love is vaster passion now ;

Tho' niix'd with God and Nature thou,
I seem to \ovq thee more and more.

Far off thou art, but ever nigh ;

I have thee still, and I rejoice;

I prosper, circled with thy voice ;
I shall not lose thee tho' I die.

zo8

IN MEMORIAM.

CXXXI.

LIVING will that slialt endure
When all that seems shall suffer shock,
Rise in the spiritual rock,
Flow thro' our deeds and make them pure,

That we may lift from out of dust

A voice as unto him that hears,

A cry above the conquer'd years
To one that with us works, and trust.

With faith that comes of self-control,
The truths that never can be proved
Until we close with all we loved,

And all we flow from, soul in soul.

m'^m.

iffcr shock,

lire.

TRUE and tried, so well and long,
Demand not thou a marrian^e lay;
In that it is thy marriage day
Is music more than any song.

Nor have I felt so much of bliss

Since first he told me that he loved
A daughter of our house; nor proved

Since that dark day a day like this;

Tho' I since then have number'd o'er

Some thrice three years : they went and came,
Remade the blood and changed the frame,

And yet is love not less, but more ;

aso

IN MEMOKIAM.

No longer caring to embalm

In dying songs a dead regret,
But like a statue solid-set,

And moulded in colossal calm.

Regret is dead, but love is more

Than in the summers that are flown,
For I myself with these have grown

To something greater than before ;

nil' I
W

Which makes appear the songs I made
As echoes out of weaker times,
As half but idle brawling rhymes.

The sport of random sun and shade.

But where is she, the bridal flower,

That must be made a wife ere noon ?
She enters, glowing like the moon

Of Eden on its bridal bower :

IN MEMORIAL.

9XX

On me she bends her blissful eyes

And then on thee ; they meet thy look
And brighten like the star that shook

Betwixt the palms of paradise.

O when her life was yet in bud,

He too foretold the perfect rose.

For thee she grew, for thee she grows

For ever, and as fair as good.

And thou art worthy; full of power;
As gentle; liberal-minded, great,
Consistent ; wearing all that weight

Of learning lightly like a flower.

But now set out : the noon is near,
And I must give away the bride ;
She fears not, or with thee beside

And me behind her, will not fear

Bia /.V MEMORIAM.

For I that danced her on my knee,

That watch'd her on her nurse's arm,
That shielded all her life from harm

At last must part with her to thee ;

Now waiting to be made a wife,

Pier feet, my darling, on the dead ;
Their pensive tablets round her head,

And the mos* living words of life

Breathed in her ear. The ring is on.

The " wilt thou" answerM, and again
The "wilt thou" ask'd, till out of twain

Her sweet *' I will " has made ye one.

Now sign your names, which shall be read,
'Mute symbols of a joyful morn,
By village eyes as yet unborn ;
. The names are sign'd, and overhead

■m-^m^.w

IN MEMORIAM.

Begins the clash and clang that tells
The joy to every wandering breeze ;
The blind wall rocks, and on the trees

The dead leaf trembles to the bells.

O happy hour, and happier hours

Await them. Many a merr)- face
Salutes them— maidens of the place,

That pelt us in the porch with flowers.

ax3

O happy hour, behold the bride

With him to whom her hand I gave.
They leave the porch, they piss the grave

That has to-day its sunny side.

To-day tlie grave is briglil for me,

For them the light of life increased,
Who stay to share the morning feast,

Who rest to-ni<jht beside the sea.

I.V MEMORIAM.

Let all my genial spirits advance

To meet and greet a whiter sun ;
My drooping memory will not shun

The foaming grape of eastern France.

It circles round, and fancy plays,

And hearts are warm'd and faces bloom,
As drinking health to bride and groom

We wish them store of happy days.

Nor count me all to blame if I
Conjecture of a stiller guest,
Perchance, perchance, among the rest,
.And, tho' in silence, wishing joy.

But they must go, the time draws on.

And those white-favour'd horses wait ;
They rise, but linger; it is late;

Farewell, we kiss, and they are gone.

IN MEMORIAM.

A shade falls on us like the dark

From little cloudlets on the grass,
But sweeps away as out we pass

To range the woods, to roam the park,

8IS

Discussing how their courtship grew.
And talk of others that are wed,
And how she look'd, and what he said.

And back we come at fall of dew.

Again the feast, the speech, the glee.

The shade of passing tiiought, the wealth
Of words and wit, the double health,

The crowning cup, the three-times-three.

And last the dance;— till I retire:

Dumb is that tower which spake so loud,
And high in heaven the streaming cloud,

And on the downs a rising fire :

„6 ' IN MEMORIAM.

And rise, O moon, from yonder down,
Till over down and over dale
All night the shining vapour sail

And pass the silent-lighted town,

The white-faced halls, th- ^dancing rills,
And catch at every mountain head,
And o'er the friths that branch and spread

Their sleeping silver thro' the hills ;

And touch with shade the bridal doors,
With tender gloom the roof, the wall;
And breaking let the splendour fall

To spangle all the happy shores

By which they rest, and ocean sounds,
And, star and system rolling past,
A soul shall draw from out the vast

And strike his being into bounds,

-•^rr^-mmt fimmr.'V,mm''i*:xit'';

IN MEMOKIAM>

And, moved thro' life of lower plin';e,
Result in man, be born and think,
And act and love, a closer link

Betwixt us and the crowning race

Of those that, eye to eye, shall look

On knowledge; under whose command
Is Earth and Earth's, and in their hand

Is Nature like an open book ;

No longer half-akin to brute,

For all we thought and loved and did.
And hoped, and sufTer'd, is but seed

Of what in them is flower and fruit ;

Whereof the man, that with me trod
This planet, was a noble type
Appearing ere the time? were ripe,

That friend of mine who lives in God,

■"7

ai8

/N MEMORIAM.

That God, which ever lives and U-vc-j.
One (iod, one law, one element,
And one fai--«)tV divine event,

To which the whole creation moves.

■■^;»i, T--»f;|ia