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They may follow on his track,
As a silver-hearted bell, But He never will come back,
Or to follow its low swell, Never again!
When, as dreamy winds that stray
Fainting 'mid Æolian chords, “ Youth is gone away,
Inner music seemed to play Cruel cruel Youth,
Symphony to all his words ; Full of gentleness and ruth
In his hand was poised a spear, Did we think him all his stay ;
Deftly poised, as to appear How had he the heart to wreak
Resting of its proper will,Such a wo on us so weak,
Thus a merry hunter still, He that was so tender-meek ?
And engarlanded with bay, How could he be made to learn
Must our Youth have gone away, To find pleasure in our pain ?
Tho' we half remember now, Could he leave us, to return
He had borne some little while Never again!
Something mournful in his smile
Something serious on his brow : “ Bow your heads very low,
Gentle Heart, perhaps he knew Solemn-measured be your paces,
The cruel deed he was about to do! Gathered up in grief your faces,
Now, between us all and Him Sing sad music as ye go ;
There are rising mountains dim, In disordered handfuls strew
Forests of uncounted trees, Strips of cypress, sprigs of rue ;
Spaces of uumeasured seas; In your hands be borne the bloom,
Think, with Him how gay of yore Whose long petals once and only
We made sunshine out of shade, Look from their pale-leaved tomb
Think with Him how light we bore In the darkness lonely;
All the burden sorrow laid ; Let the nightshade's beaded coral
All went happily about Him,Fall in melancholy moral
How shall we toil on without Him ? Your wan brows around,
How without his cheering eye While in very scorn ye fling
Constant strength embreathing ever ? The amaranth upon the ground
How without Him standing by As an unbelieved thing;
Aiding every hard endeavour ? What care we for its fair tale
For when faintness or disease Of beauties that can never fail,
Had usurped upon our knees, Glories that can never wane ?
If he deigned our lips to kiss No such blooms are on the track
With those living lips of his, He has past, who will come back
We were lightened of our pain, Never again!
We were up and hale again :
Now, without one blessing glance “ Alas, we know not how he went,
From his rose-lit countenance,
We shall die, deserted men,
All our blood is drying old,
And a terrible heart-dearth We were miserable men,
Reigns for us in heaven and earth : We were hopeless, every one !
Forth we stretch our chilly fingers Yes, he must have gone away
In poor effort to attain In his guise of every day,
Tepid embers, where still lingers In his common dress, the same
Some preserving warmth, in vain. Perfect face and perfect frame ;
Oh! if Love, the Sister dear For in feature, for in limb,
Of Youth that we have lost, Who could be compared to him ?
Come not in swift pity here, Firm his step, as one who knows
Come not, with a host He is free, where'er he goes,
Of Affections, strong and kind, And withal as light of spring
To hold up our sinking mind, At the arrow from the string ;
If She will not, of her grace, His impassioned eye had got
Take her Brother's holy place, Fire which the sun has not ;
And be to us, at least a part Silk to feel, and gold to see,
Of what he was, in Life and Heart, Fell his tresses full and free,
The faintpess that is on our breath
Can have no other end but Death.”
We read these lines without fearing When his voice was trilling clear,
to let all their pathos fall upon our spirits-for into its depths should that Yon orb, but now who swept the East, pathos sink, it will find there a repose with train of ruby and amethyst, it cannot disturb, or a trouble it can. Rides on, unweariedly as ever, not allay. The truths they tell have O'er frowning rock, and glitt'ring river; been so long familiar there, that we Those trees, I own, are somewhat higher,seem to hear but our own voice again
bear but our own voice again The ivy round the village spire giving utterance to thoughts that for
to thoughts that for In fuller-clust'ring leaf has grown, many years have lain silent, but alive,
We cannot call that cot our own,in their cells—like slumberers awak
But what has changed in this sweet glen ened at midnight by solemn music,
As we from what our hearts were then ? listing up their heads for a while to
Say you, the glow of hope is bright, listen, and then laying them down to
And if it be a meteor light, relapse into the same dreams that had
That hurtles through the thick’ning sky,
'Tis wise to catch it ere it die ? possessed their sleep. But ye who are
Tell you me, 'tis a joy to feel still young-yet have begun to expe
Our toil increase a fellow's weal ? rience how sad it is and mournful ex- That, 'mid these fainting, fading, bowers. ceedingly to regret, perhaps to weep There linger still some am’ranth flowers, over, the passing away and the past, And honest will, and honest prayer, because that something was that never will find them lurking every where ?more may be-ponder ye on the strain, Say on, I can but add, Amen,and lay the moral, the religious lesson We are not now as we were then. it teaches within your hearts. So may the sadness sanctify-and the “ Oh, Brother! when I gaze upon Spirits that God sends to minister un. These tombs of little blisses gone, to us children of the dust, find you When, through the dense and steamy air, willing to be comforted, when Youth Which we with men are wont to share, has left you, heedless if to despair- A breeze of distant youth has stole for Angel though he seem, he is not of
In freshness on my fevered soul, heaven--but of heaven are they, and I feel like one who long has lain therefore immortal.
With madness gath'ring in his brain, Now receive into your hearts, O
And, bursting from the strong distress, Youths !-undivided by any commen.
Wakes to a terrible consciousness.
Then blame you, that my pulse beat now, tary of ours-these three strains po.
Blame you the agony on my brow ? tent in the peace they breathe—and
There was, when fear was all a stranger, verily, even in this noisy world the
Ere knowledge showed the way to dangerpeaceful are the strong. The first, it
When love was firm - when faith was sure, is true, speaks of change, decay, and And head and heart alike secure ;trouble and the second is saddened But now, ... Remember you a flower by the melancholy which imagination which we with care, from sun and often carries into the heart—but the shower, third is elevating and ennobling—and It was our mother's,-loved to guard, the three, thus read as one, leave the And how we joyed in our reward, spirit calm, and prepared to face the When first we watcht its bloom appear, future in the confidence of love and When it was old so many a year ; truth.
And how we heard, with tearful eye,
That that bright plant would bloom no “ Six years, six cycles of dead hours,
more? Six falls of leaves, six births of flowers, The flowers fell off, – the stalk was gaIt is not that, you know full well,
thered,That makes my lab'ring bosom swell, The root grew dry,—the lank leaves wi'Tis not the memory of lost Time,
But, Brother, still we linger on.
“ Between the cradle and the shroud, Through thousand suinmers glistens If chance, amid the pilgrim crowd, sti!,
Though strange the time and strange the Yon stream will ne'er to time surrender place, Its rapid path of diamond splendour, We light on some familiar face,
TO MY BROTHER.
Once loved and known, as friend knows Little of care or thought are wanted friend,
To guard its beauty fresh and whole; In whom a thousand memories blend, But when the one empassioned age Which whilom slumbered dull and dim, Has full revealed the magic bloom, But rise in light and cling to him ;
A wise and holy tutelage Though not a trait of old as wont,
Alone can shun the open tomb, Though care has knit the ample front, And vice unstrung the well-toned frame, “ It is not Absence you should dread, Still something, something is the same. For Absence is the very air But if we ever hope to find
In which, if sound at root, the hear! Some traces in that life-worn mind
Shall wave most wonderful and fair ; Of its pure self, its simple being,
With sympathies of joy and sorrow Such as it was, when, unforeseeing,
Fed, as with morn and even dews, We thought that Nature's laws would fail, Ideal colouring it may borrow Ere Sin could make its boldness quail ; Richer than ever earthly hues. Such as it was, ere sensuous things Had clipt the bird of Eden's wings, “ But oft the plant, whose leaves unsere Ere stifled groan and secret sigh
Refresh the desert, hardly brooks Replaced the tear so soon brusht by, The common-peopled atmosphere 'Tis vain,-alas, for human shame! Of daily thoughts and words and looks ; There nothing, nothing is the same. It trembles at the brushing wings
Of many a careless fashion-fly, “ O that the painter's fav’rite scheme And strange suspicions aim their stings Were not alone a painter's dream!
To taint it as they wanton by, O that the Paradise he feigns, Where Innocence with Childhood reigns, “ Rare is the heart to bear a flower, And cherub forms and infant guise
That must not wholly fall and fade, Inclose the heart divinely wise,
Where alien feelings, hour by hour, Were not alone a Poet's creed,
Spring up, beset, and overshade ;
Better, a child of care and toil,
To pine neglected and forgot.
“ Yet when, at last, by human slight, To be for aye as we were then 1"
Or close of their permitted day,
Such fine creations lapse away, -
Bury the relics that retain
Sick odours of departed pride, " When first the Friendship-flower is Hoard as ye will your memory's gain, planted
But let them perish where they died.” Within the garden of your soul,
“ We read together, reading the same book,
Yet with so much monotony,
More like a bee, that in the noon rejoices,
“ Then if some wayward or disputed sense
We had experience of a blissful state,
“ We prayed together, praying the same prayer,
“ The depth of human reason must become
“ But we were mortal still, and when again
Strange that with all our love of though we look with delight on the nature, and of art, we never were a work when done by others--the pic. Painter. True that in boyhood we ture without the process—the pro. were no contemptible hand at a Lion duct of genius, without thought of its or a Tiger-and sketches by us of mortal instruments. We work in such cats springing or preparing to words, and words are, in good truth, spring in keelavine, dashed off some images, feelings, thoughts; and of fifty or sixty years ago, might well these the outer world as well as make Edwin Landseer stare. Even the inner is composed, let materialists yet we are a sort of Salvator Rosa at say what they will. Prose is poetryà savage scene, and our black - lead we have proved that to the satisfaction pencil heaps up confused shatterings of all mankind. Look! we beseech of rocks, and flings a mountainous you-how the little Loch seems to rise region into convulsions, as if an earth- up with its tall heronry-a central isle quake heaved, in a way that is no canny, and all its sylvan braes, till it lies making people shudder as if something almost on a level with the floor of our had gone wrong with this planet of Cave, from which in three minutes we ours, and creation were falling back could hobble on our crutch down the into chaos. But we love scenes of inclining greensward to the Bay of beautiful repose too profoundly ever Waterlilies, and in that canoe be afloat to dream of “ transferring them to among the Swans. All birches-not canvass.” Such employment would any other kind of tree-except the be felt by us to be desecration- pines, on whose tops the large nests re
pose—and here and there a still bird “A man's best things are nearest him, standing as if asleep. What a place Lie close about his feet, for Roes!
It is the distant and the dim Why, we are absolutely writing an That we are sick to greet : article, and to fill a sheet how pleasant For flowers that grow our hands bencath to have recourse again to such a man We struggle and aspire, as Milnes! Thus
Our hearts must die, except they breathe
The air of fresh Desire.
“ But, Brothers, who up Reason's hill “I know not that the men of old
Advance with hopeful cheer,Were better than men now,
O ! loiter not, those heights are chill, Of heart more kind, of hand more bold,
As chill as they are clear ; Of more ingenuous brow:
And still restrain your haughty gaze, I heed not those who pine for force
The loftier that ye go, A ghost of Time to raise,
Remembe’ring distance leaves a haze As if they thus could check the course
On all that lies below." Of these appointed days.
Think not that we should have “ Still is it true, and over true,
wearied of our own company in this That I delight to close
Cave, had we been without a mateThis book of life self-wise and new,
rial book. In our mind is a library And let my thoughts repose On all that humble happiness,
of other substance and we are alThe world has since foregone,
ways in a state of clairvoyance. We The daylight of contentedness
have been reading Milnes now with That on those faces shone!
the palm of our hand-but that is With rights, tho'not too closely scanned, merely because the volume bappens Enjoyed, as far as known,
to be on the table—we see through With will by no reverse unmanned,
Shakspeare, and Milton, and Spenser, With pulse of even tone,
and Wordsworth, in the niche yonThey from to-day and from to-night der-nor need they be there-for Expected nothing more,
with shut eyes we can read in to ourThan yesterday and yesternight
selves the Paradise Lost, and the ExHad proffered them before.
cursion, and the Fairy Queen, and the
Tempest, in editions out of print, and “ To them was life a simple art
that we never saw-what think you Of duties to be done,
of that, Dupotet ? Doctors ElliotA game where each man took his part,
son and Lardner, pray hold your peace. A race where all must run;
We tie our black silk neckerchief A battle whose great scheme and scope
round our eyes-till we are as blind They little cared to know,
as a mole, a bat, or as an impostorContent, as men at arms, to cope Each with his fronting foe.
turn you up “ Poems of many Years"
--correct us if we err in a single syl“ Man now his Virtue's diac'em
lable and hearken to Christopher in Puts on and proudly wears,
his Cave—spiritually not animally Great thoughts, great feelings, came to magnetized - reading the " Lay of them,
the Humble" — with his thumb!
THE LAY TE HUMBLE.
No pleasant range of feature;
I'am feeble, as when first I came “ And what if Nature's fearful wound To earth, a weeping creature; They did not probe and bare,
My voice is low whene'er I speak,
But though thus cast among the weak, For that their love but flowed more I envy not the strong.
fast, Their charities more free,
“ The trivial part in life I play Not conscious what merd drops they can have so light a bearing cast
On other men, who, night or day, Into the evil sea,
For me are never caring;