How hard he breathes! over the snow 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. Alack! our friend is gone. 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, TO J. S. THE wind, that beats the mountain, blows And me this knowledge bolder made, 'Tis strange that those we lean on most, Those in whose laps our limbs are nursed, Fall into shadow, soonest lost: Those we love first are taken first. God gives us love. Something to love He lends us; but, when love is grown To ripeness, that on which it throve Falls off, and love is left alone. In grief I am not all unlearn'd; 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: And tho' mine own eyes fill with dew, Drawn from the spirit thro' the brain, I will not even preach to you, 66 Weep, weeping dulls the inward pain." Let Grief be her own mistress still. She loveth her own anguish deep 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 I wrote I know not what. In truth, 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 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; Lie still, dry dust, secure of change. You ask me, why, tho' ill at ease, 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 broadens slowly down From precedent to precedent : Where faction seldom gathers head, But by degrees to fulness wrought, The strength of some diffusive thought Hath time and space to work and spread. Should banded unions persecute When single thought is civil crime, And individual freedom mute; - Tho' Power should make from land to land Yet waft me from the harbor-mouth, Wild wind! I seek a warmer sky, Or old sat Freedom on the heights, The thunders breaking at her feet: There in her place she did rejoice, Self-gather'd in her prophet-mind, But fragments of her mighty voice Came rolling on the wind. Then stept she down thro' town and field To mingle with the human race, And part by part to men reveal'd The fulness of her face Grave mother of majestic works, Who, God-like, grasps the triple forks, 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, Make bright our days and light our dreams, Turning to scorn with lips divine The falsehood of extremes ! 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, That every sophister can lime. Deliver not the tasks of might To weakness, neither hide the ray From those, not blind, who wait for day, Tho' sitting girt with doubtful light. Make knowledge circle with the winds; Bear seed of men and growth of minds. |