But tho' his eyes are waxing dim, Old year, you shall not die; We did so laugh and cry with you, He was full of joke and jest, His son and heir doth ride post-haste, Every one for his own. The night is starry and cold, my friend, How hard he breathes! over the snow I heard just now the crowing cock. The cricket chirps: the light burns low: 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: Step from the corpse, and let him in That standeth there alone, And waiteth at the door. There's a new foot on the floor, my friend, And a new face at the door, my friend, (1853) XC TO J. S. THE wind, that beats the mountain, blows And gently comes the world to those 134 Poems my heart 'Tis strange that those we lean on most, Those we love first are taken first. God gives us love. Something to love This is the curse of time. Alas! In grief I am not all unlearn'd; Once thro' mine own doors Death did pass ; He will not smile-not speak to me Once more. Two years his chair is seen Empty before us. That was he Without whose life I had not been. Your loss is rarer; for this star Rose with you thro' a little arc I knew your brother: his mute dust 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 I will not say "God's ordinance Of Death is blown in every wind; That takes away a noble mind. In all our hearts, as mournful light . And dwells in heaven half the night. Cast down her eyes, and in her throat Dropt on the letters as I wrote. How should I soothe you anyway, For he too was a friend to me: Both are my friends, and my true breast 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 till the end, true soul and sweet. Sleep full of rest from head to feet; (1853) Lie still, dry dust, secure of change. End of 15 XCI You ask me, why, tho' ill at ease, (1853) 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 faction seldom gathers head, But by degrees to fullness wrought, Should banded unions persecute When single thought is civil crime, Tho' Power should make from land to land Yet waft me from the harbour-mouth, XCII Of old sat Freedom on the heights, She heard the torrents meet. There in her place she did rejoice, Self-gather'd in her prophet-mind, Then stept she down thro' town and field And part by part to men reveal'd The fullness of her face Grave mother of majestic works, From her isle-altar gazing down, Who, God-like, grasps the triple forks, And, King-like, wears the crown : Her open eyes desire the truth. The wisdom of a thousand years Is in them. May perpetual youth Keep dry their light from tears; That her fair form may stand and shine, The falsehood of extremes ! (1853) XCIII LOVE thou thy land, with love far-brought True love turn'd round on fixed poles, But pamper not a hasty time, Nor feed with crude imaginings The herd, wild hearts and feeble wings, Deliver not the tasks of might To weakness, neither hide the ray From those, not blind, who wait for day, Make knowledge circle with the winds; Bear seed of men and growth of minds. Watch what main-currents draw the years : |