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.

Words weaker than your grief would make Grief more. "Twere better I should cease

Although myself could almost take

The place of him that sleeps in peace.

Sleep sweetly, tender heart, in peace :

Sleep, holy spirit, blessed soul,

While the stars burn, the moons increase,
And the great ages onward roll.

Sleep till the end, true soul and sweet.

Nothing comes to thee new or strange.

Sleep full of rest from head to feet;

Lie still, dry dust, secure of change.

ON A MOURNER.

I.

NATURE, so far as in her lies,

Imitates God, and turns her face

To every land beneath the skies,

Counts nothing that she meets with base,
But lives and loves in every place;

II.

Fills out the homely quickset-screens,
And makes the purple lilac ripe,

Steps from her airy hill, and greens

The swamp, where humm'd the dropping snipe,

With moss and braided marish-pipe;

III.

And on thy heart a finger lays,

Saying, Beat quicker, for the time

Is pleasant, and the woods and ways
Are pleasant, and the beech and lime
Put forth and feel a gladder clime.'

IV.

And murmurs of a deeper voice,

Going before to some far shrine,
Teach that sick heart the stronger choice,
Till all thy life one way incline

With one wide Will that closes thine.

V.

And when the zoning eve has died

Where yon dark valleys wind forlorn, Come Hope and Memory, spouse and bride, From out the borders of the morn,

With that fair child betwixt them born.

VI.

And when no mortal motion jars

The blackness round the tombing sod,

Thro' silence and the trembling stars

Comes Faith from tracts no feet have trod,

And Virtue, like a household god

VII.

Promising empire; such as those

Once heard at dead of night to greet

Troy's wandering prince, so that he rose
With sacrifice, while all the fleet

Had rest by stony hills of Crete.

You ask me, why, tho' ill at ease,
Within this region I subsist,

Whose spirits falter in the mist,
And languish for the purple seas.

It is the land that freemen till,

That sober-suited Freedom chose,

The land, where girt with friends or foes

A man may speak the thing he will;

A land of settled government,

A land of just and old renown,

Where Freedom slowly broadens down

From precedent to precedent:

Where faction seldom gathers head,

But by degrees to fullness wrought, The strength of some diffusive thought Hath time and space to work and spread.