To be the ghost of one who bore your Now pacing mute by ocean's rim ; 20 I stay'd the wheels at Cogoletto, And drank, and loyally drank to him? Nor knew we well what pleased us most; Not the clipt palm of which they boast, But distant color, happy hamlet, A moulder'd citadel on the coast, Or tower, or high hill-convent, seen A light amid its olives green; Or olive-hoary cape in ocean; Or rosy blossom in hot ravine, Where oleanders flush'd the bed Of silent torrents, gravel-spread; 30 And, crossing, oft we saw the glisten Of ice, far up on a mountain head. We loved that hall, tho' white and cold, Those niched shapes of noble mould, A princely people's awful princes, The grave, severe Genovese of old. 40 At Florence too what golden hours, In those long galleries, were ours; To Como; shower and storm and blast TO THE REV. F. D. MAURICE From Como, when the light was gray, ike ballad-burthen music, kept, is on the Lariano crept To that fair port below the castle Of Queen Theodolind, where we slept; r hardly slept, but watch'd awake 81 cypress in the moonlight shake, COME, when no graver cares employ, Godfather, come and see your boy; Your presence will be sun in win ter, Making the little one leap for joy. For, being of that honest few councils III ead out the pageant: sad and slow, sfits an universal woe, et the long, long procession go. There he shall rest for ever Among the wise and the bold. Let the bell be toll'd, And a reverent people behold and let the sorrowing crowd about it The towering car, the sable steeds. grow, Bright let it be with its blazon'd deeds nd let the mournful martial music Dark in its funeral fold. And worthy to be laid by thee; 120 A people's voice! we are a people yet. Tho' all men else their nobler dreams forget, Confused by brainless mobs and lawless Powers, Thank Him who isled us here, and roughly set His Briton in blown seas and storming showers, We have a voice with which to pay the debt Of boundless love and reverence and regret To those great men who fought, and kept it ours. And keep it ours, O God, from brute control! O Statesmen, guard us, guard the eye, the soul 160 |