Or that this anguish fleeting hence, Unmanacled from bonds of sense, Be fix'd and froz'n to permanence: For I go, weak from suffering here: Naked I go, and void of cheer : What is it that I may not fear?' 'Consider well,' the voice replied, 'His face, that two hours since hath died; Wilt thou find passion, pain or pride? Will he obey when one commands? Or answer should one press his hands? He answers not, nor understands. 6 His palms are folded on his breast: There is no other thing express'd But long disquiet merged in rest. 'His lips are very mild and meek : Tho' one should smite him on the cheek, And on the mouth, he will not speak. 'His little daughter, whose sweet face He kiss'd, taking his last embrace, Becomes dishonour to her race 'His sons grow up that bear his name, Some grow to honour, some to shame, --But he is chill to praise or blame. He will not hear the north-wind rave, Nor, moaning, household shelter crave From winter rains that beat his grave. "High up the vapours fold and swim: About him broods the twilight dim: The place he knew forgetteth him.' |