XVIII. Tis well; t is something; we may stand "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 weep, And hear the ritual of the dead. Ah yet, ev'n yet, if this might be, 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. XIX. THE Danube to the Severn gave The darken'd heart 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, The Wye is hush'd nor moved along, XX. THE lesser griefs that may be said, Who speak their feeling as it is, And weep the fulness from the mind: "It will be hard," they say, "to find Another service such as this," And we with singing cheer'd the way, But where the path we walk'd began And bore thee where I could not see If all was good and fair we met, This earth had been the Paradise It never look'd to human eyes Since Adam left his garden yet. And is it that the haze of grief Makes former gladness loom so great! Or that the past will always win XXV. I 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 light as carrier-birds in air; Nor could I weary, heart or limb, The lading of a single pain, And part it, giving half to him. XXVI. STILL onward winds the dreary way; And if that eye which watches guilt And goodness, and hath power to see Within the green the moulder'd tree, And towers fall'n as soon as built O, if indeed that eye foresee Or see (in Him is no before) In more of life true life no more Then might I find, ere yet the morn XXVII. I ENVY not in any moods The captive void of noble rage, The linnet born within the cage, That never knew the summer woods; WITH trembling fingers did we weave We gamboll'd, making vain pretence We paused: the winds were in the beech: 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: 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 gather'd power, yet the same, Pierces the keen seraphic flame From orb to orb, from veil to veil." Rise, happy morn, rise, holy morn, Draw forth the cheerful day from night: O Father, touch the east, and light The light that shone when Hope was born. XXXI. WHEN Lazarus left his charnel-cave, And home to Mary's house return'd, Was this demanded if he yearn'd To hear her weeping by his grave? "Where wert thou, brother, those four days?" There lives no record of reply, Which telling what it is to die Had surely added praise to praise. From every house the neighbors met, Behold a man raised up by Christ! XXXII. HER 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? XXXIII. O THOU that after toil and storm Mayst seem to have reach'd a purer air, Whose faith hath centre everywhere, Nor cares to fix itself to form, Leave thou thy sister when she prays, Her faith thro' form is pure as thine, XXXIV. My own dim life should teach me this, This round of green, this orb of flame, What then were God to such as I? "T were best at once to sink to peace, XXXV. YET if some voice that man could trust Should murmur from the narrow house, "The cheeks drop in; the body bows; Man dies nor is there hope in dust": Might I not say, "Yet even here, But for one hour, O Love, I strive To keep so sweet a thing 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 Eonian hills, and sow The dust of continents to be; And Love would answer with a sigh, "The sound of that forgetful shore Will change my sweetness more and Half-dead to know that I shall die." more, |