« ForrigeFortsæt »
He mocks no grief with idle cheer,
Oh! thou who mournest on thy way,
ON READING HIS ESSAY ON THE
FRIEND of my soul as with moist eye
I look up from this page of thine, Is it a dream that thou art nigh,
Thy mild face gazing into mine ?
That presence seems before me now,
A placid heaven of sweet moonrise,
Descends the quiet of the skies.
The gentle lips which knew no guile,
With the bland beauty of their smile.
Ah me at times that last dread scene
Of Frost and Fire and moaning Sea, Will cast its shade of doubt between
The failing eyes of Faith and thee.
Yet, lingering o'er thy charmed page,
Where through the twilight air of earth, Alike enthusiast and sage,
Prophet and bard, thou gazest forth ;
Lifting the Future's solemn veil;
The reaching of a mortal hand To put aside the cold and pale
Cloud-curtains of the Unseen Land;
In thoughts which answer to my own,
In words which reach my inward ear, Like whispers from the void Unknown,
I feel thy living presence here.
The waves which lull thy body's rest,
The dust thy pilgrim footsteps trod, Unwasted, through each change, attest
The fixed economy of God.
Shall these poor elements outlive
The mind whose kingly will they wrought ? Their gross unconsciousness survive
Thy Godlike energy of thought ? THOU LIVEST, FOLLENS_not in vain
Hath thy fine spirit meekly borne The burthen of Life's cross of pain,
And the thorned crown of suffering worn. Oh! while Life's solemn mystery glooms
Around us like a dungeon's wallSilent earth's pale and crowded tombs,
Silent the heaven which bends o'er all !
While day by day our loved ones glide
In spectral silence, hushed and lone, To the cold shadows which divide
The living from the dread Unknown;
While even on the closing eye,.
And on the lip which moves in vain, The seals of that stern mystery
Their undiscovered trust retain ;
And only midst the gloom of death,
Its mournful doubts and haunting fears, Two pale, sweet angels, Hope and Faith,
Smile dimly on us through their tears; T is something to a heart like mine
To think of thee as living yet; To feel that such a light as thine Could not in utter darkness set.
Less dreary seems the untried way
Since thou hast left thy footprints there, And beams of mournful beauty play
Round the sad Angel's sable hair. Oh at this hour when half the sky
Is glorious with its evening light, And fair broad fields of summer lie
Hung o'er with greenness in my sight; While through these elm boughs wet with rain
The sunset's golden walls are seen, With clover bloom and yellow grain
And wood-draped hill and stream between;
I long to know if scenes like this
Are hidden from an angel's eyes; If earth's familiar loveliness
Haunts not thy heaven's serener skies.
For sweetly here
In earth and sky and gliding wave. And it may be that all which lends
The soul an upward impulse here, With a diviner beauty blends,
And greets us in a holier sphere.
Through groves where blighting never fell
The humbler flowers of earth may twine ; And simple draughts from childhood's well
Blend with the angel-tasted wine. But be the prying vision veiled,
And let the seeking lips be dumb,— Where even seraph eyes have failed
Shall mortal blindness seek to come ?
We only know that thou hast gone,
And that the same returnless tide Which bore thee from us still glides on,
And we who mourn thee with it glide. On all thou lookest we shall look,
And to our gaze ere long shall turn That
page of God's mysterious book We so much wish, yet dread to learn.
With Him, before whose awful
power Thy spirit bent its trembling knee :Who, in the silent greeting flower,
And forest leaf, looked out on thee,
We leave thee, with a trust serene,
Which Time, nor Change, nor Death can move, While with thy childlike faith we lear
On Him whose dearest name is Love!
TO THE REFORMERS OF ENGLAND
God bless ye, brothers in the fight
Ye're waging now, ye cannot fail, For better is your sense of right
Than king-craft's triple mail.
Than tyrant's law, or bigot's ban
More mighty is your simplest word; The free heart of an honest man
Than crosier or the sword.
Go_let your bloated Church rehearse
The lesson it has learned so well; It moves not with its prayer or curse
The gates of Heaven or hell. Let the State scaffold rise again
Did Freedom die when Russel died ? Forget ye how the blood of Vane
From earth's green bosom cried ?
The great hearts of your olden time
Are beating with you, full and strong All holy memories and sublime
And glorious round ye throng.
The bluff, bold men of Runnymede
Are with ye still in times like these ; The shades of England's mighty dead,
Your cloud of witnesses !
The truths ye urge are borne abroad
By every wind and every tide; The voice of Nature and of God
Speaks out upon your side.