And so my passion hath not swerved Likewise the imaginative woe, That loved to handle spiritual strife, Diffused the shock through all my life, But in the present broke the blow. My pulses therefore beat again For other friends that once I met; The mighty hopes that make us men. I woo your love: I count it crime A friendship as had mastered Time; Which masters Time indeed, and is The all-assuming months and years But Summer on the steaming floods, And Spring that swells the narrow brooks That gather in the waning woods, And every pulse of wind and wave Recalls, in change of light or gloom, My old affection of the tomb, A part of stillness yearns to speak: "Arise, and get thee forth and seek A friendship for the years to come. IN MEMORIAM. "I watch thee from the quiet shore; And I, "Can clouds of nature stain And lightly does the whisper fall: So hold I commerce with the dead; Or so methinks the dead would say; And pining life be fancy-fed. Now looking to some settled end, That these things pass, and I shall prove I crave your pardon, oh my friend; If not so fresh, with love as true, I, clasping brother-hands, aver I could not, if I would, transfer The whole I felt for him to you. For which be they that hold apart The promise of the golden hours? First love, first friendship, equal powers, That marry with the virgin heart. Still mine that cannot but deplore, IN MEMORIAM. My heart, though widowed, may not rest Ah! take the imperfect gift I bring, LXXXV. SWEET after showers, ambrosial air, The round of space, and rapt below Through all the dewy-tasselled wood, In ripples, fan my brows and blow The fever from my cheek, and sigh The full new life that feeds thy breath Ill brethren, let the fancy fly From belt to belt of crimson seas, On leagues of odor streaming far, To where, in yonder orient star, A hundred spirits whisper "Peace." LXXXVI. I PASSED beside the reverend walls In which of old I wore the gown; And saw the tumult of the halls; And heard once more in college fanes The prophets blazoned on the panes ; And caught once more the distant shout, The measured pulse of racing oars Among the willows; paced the shores And many a bridge, and all about The same gray flats again, and felt The same, but not the same; and last, Up that long walk of limes I passed, To see the rooms in which he dwelt. Another name was on the door: I lingered; all within was noise Of songs, and clapping hands, and boys That crashed the glass and beat the floor; Where once we held debate, a band Of youthful friends, on mind and art, And labor, and the changing mart, And all the framework of the land; When one would aim an arrow fair, But send it slackly from the string; And one would pierce an outer ring, And one an inner, here and there; And last, the master-bowman, he Would cleave the mark. A willing ear The rapt oration flowing free From point to point with power and grace, And music in the bounds of law, To those conclusions when we saw The God within him light his face, VOL. II. 5 And seem to lift the form, and glow LXXXVII. WILD bird, whose warble, liquid sweet, Whence radiate: fierce extremes employ And I,-my harp would prelude woe,- LXXXVIII. WITCH-ELMS, that counterchange the floor Of foliage, towering sycamore; How often, hither wandering down, My Arthur found your shadows fair, The dust and din and steam of town! He brought an eye for all he saw; He mixed in all our simple sports; They pleased him, fresh from brawling courts And dusky purlieus of the law. |