Me lying dead, my crown about my Hearing the holy organ rolling waves brows, Of sound on roof and floor The light white cloud swam over us. Anon We heard the lion roaring from his den; We saw the large white stars rise one by one, Or, from the darken'd glen, 'Saw God divide the night with flying flame, And thunder on the everlasting hills. I heard Him, for He spake, and grief became A solemn scorn of ills. When the next moon was roll'd into the sky, Strength came to me that equall'd my How beautiful a thing it was to die It comforts me in this one thought to dwell, That I subdued me to my father's will; Because the kiss he gave me, ere I fell, Sweetens the spirit still. 'Moreover it is written that my race Hew'd Ammon, hip and thigh, from Aroer On Arnon unto Minneth.' Here her face Glow'd, as I look'd at her. She lock'd her lips: she left me where I stood : 'Glory to God,' she sang, and past afar, Thridding the sombre boskage of the wood, Toward the morning-star. Losing her carol I stood pensively, As one that from a casement leans his head, When midnight bells cease ringing sud. denly, And the old year is dead. Alas! alas!' a low voice, full of care, Murmur'd beside me : Turn and look on me: I am that Rosamond, whom men call fair, If what I was I be. Or her who knew that Love can vanquish Yet, tho' I spared thee all the spring, Death, Who kneeling, with one arm about her king, Thy sole delight is, sitting still, With that gold dagger of thy bill To fret the summer jenneting. Drew forth the poison with her balmy A golden bill! the silver tongue, breath, Sweet as new buds in Spring. No memory labours longer from the deep Gold-mines of thought to lift the hidden ore That glimpses, moving up, than I from sleep To gather and tell o'er Each little sound and sight. With what dull pain Compass'd, how eagerly I sought to strike Into that wondrous track of dreams again! But no two dreams are like. Cold February loved, is dry: Plenty corrupts the melody That made thee famous once, when young: And in the sultry garden-squares, Now thy flute-notes are changed to coarse, I hear thee not at all, or hoarse As when a hawker hawks his wares. Take warning! he that will not sing While yon sun prospers in the blue, Shall sing for want, ere leaves are new, Caught in the frozen palms of Spring. THE DEATH OF THE OLD YEAR. FULL knee-deep lies the winter snow, And the winter winds are wearily sighing: Toll ye the church-bell sad and slow, Old year, you must not die; He lieth still: he doth not move : Old year, you must not go; So long as you have been with us, He froth'd his bumpers to the brim; Old year, you shall not die; He was full of joke and jest, Every one for his own. The night is starry and cold, my friend, And the New-year blithe and bold, my friend, Comes up to take his own. How hard he breathes! over the snow I heard just now the crowing cock. The shadows flicker to and fro : Shake hands, before you die. Old year, we'll dearly rue for you: His face is growing sharp and thin. Close up his eyes: tie up his chin: And waiteth at the door. There's a new foot on the floor, my friend, And a new face at the door, my friend, A new face at the door. TO J. S. THE wind, that beats the mountain, blows More softly round the open wold, And gently comes the world to those That are cast in gentle mould. And me this knowledge bolder made, Or else I had not dared to flow In these words toward you, and invade Even with a verse your holy woe. 'Tis strange that those we lean on most, Those in whose laps our limbs are nursed, Fall into shadow, soonest lost : Those we love first are taken first. God gives us love. Something to love Alas! In grief I am not all unlearn'd; Once thro' mine own doors Death did pass; One went, who never hath return'd. He will not smile-not speak to me Once more. Two years his chair is seen The cricket chirps: the light burns low: Empty before us. That was he 'Tis nearly twelve o'clock. Without whose life I had not been. Your loss is rarer; for this star Rose with you thro' a little arc Y heaven, nor having wander'd far Shot on the sudden into dark. I knew your brother: his mute dust I honour and his living worth: A man more pure and bold and just Was never born into the earth. I have not look'd upon you nigh, Since that dear soul hath fall'n asleep. Great Nature is more wise than I : I will not tell you not to weep. And tho' mine own eyes fill with dew, Drawn from the spirit thro' the brain, I will not even preach to you, 'Weep, weeping dulls the inward pain.' Let Grief be her own mistress still. She loveth her own anguish deep More than much pleasure. Let her will Be done to weep or not to weep. I will not say, 'God's ordinance Of Death is blown in every wind;' For that is not a common chance That takes away a noble mind. His memory long will live alone In all our hearts, as mournful light That broods above the fallen sun, And dwells in heaven half the night. Vain solace! Memory standing near Cast down her eyes, and in her throat Her voice seem'd distant, and a tear Dropt on the letters as I wrote. I wrote I know not what. In truth, How should I soothe you anyway, Who miss the brother of your youth? Yet something I did wish to say: For he too was a friend to me : Both are my friends, and my true breast Bleedeth for both; yet it may be That only silence suiteth best. |