A felon hand, between the goal and him,

Reached from behind his back, a trigger prest, And those perplexed and patient eyes were dim, Those gaunt, long-laboring limbs were laid to rest.

The words of mercy were upon his lips, Forgiveness in his heart and on his pen, When this vile murderer brought swift eclipse To thoughts of peace on earth, good-will to

men.

60

64

The Old World and the New, from sea to sea, Utter one voice of sympathy and shame. Sore heart, so stopped when it at last beat high! Sad life, cut short just as its triumph came! 68

A deed accurst! Strokes have been struck before

By the assassin's hand, whereof men doubt If more of horror or disgrace they bore; But thy foul crime, like Cain's, stands darkly out,

Vile hand, that brandest murder on a strife,
Whate'er its grounds, stoutly and nobly

striven;

72

And with the martyr's crown crownest a life With much to praise, little to be forgiven. 76 Tom Taylor.

1865.

CHARLES SUMNER

GARLANDS upon his grave,
And flowers upon his hearse,
And to the tender heart and brave
The tribute of this verse.

His was the troubled life,

The conflict and the pain,

The grief, the bitterness of strife,

The honor without stain.

Like Winkelried, he took

Into his manly breast

The sheaf of hostile spears, and broke

A path for the oppressed.

Then from the fatal field

Upon a nation's heart

Borne like a warrior on his shield!

So should the brave depart.

Death takes us by surprise, And stays our hurrying feet; The great design unfinished lies,

Our lives are incomplete.

12

16

20

1874.

But in the dark unknown
Perfect their circles seem,

Even as a bridge's arch of stone
Is rounded in the stream.

Alike are life and death,
When life in death survives,
And the uninterrupted breath
Inspires a thousand lives.

Were a star quenched on high,

For ages would its light,

Still travelling downward from the sky,

Shine on our mortal sight.

So when a great man dies,

For years beyond our ken,

The light he leaves behind him lies

Upon the paths of men.

Henry Wadsworth Longfellow.

24

32

36

DIRGE IN CYMBELINE

To fair Fidele's grassy tomb

Soft maids and village hinds shall bring Each opening sweet of earliest bloom, And rifle all the breathing Spring.

No wailing ghost shall dare appear
To vex with shrieks this quiet grove;

But shepherd lads assemble here,

And melting virgins own their love.

No wither'd witch shall here be seen;
No goblins lead their nightly crew:
The female fays shall haunt the green,

And dress thy grave with pearly dew.

The redbreast oft at evening hours

Shall kindly lend his little aid,

With hoary moss, and gather'd flowers,

8

12

To deck the ground where thou art laid. 16

When howling winds and beating rain,

In tempests shake the sylvan cell;

Or 'midst the chase, on every plain,

The tender thought on thee shall dwell; 20

Each lonely scene shall thee restore;
For thee the tear be duly shed;
Beloved, till life can charm no more;
And mourned, till Pity's self be dead.

1749.

William Collins.

24

OH! SNATCH'D AWAY IN
BEAUTY'S BLOOM

OH! snatch'd away in beauty's bloom,
On thee shall press no ponderous tomb;
But on thy turf shall roses rear

Their leaves, the earliest of the year;

And the wild cypress wave in tender gloom: 5

And oft by yon blue gushing stream
Shall Sorrow lean her drooping head,
And feed deep thought with many a dream,
And lingering pause and lightly tread;
Fond wretch! as if her step disturb'd the
dead!

Away! we know that tears are vain,

That Death nor heeds nor hears distress:
Will this unteach us to complain?
Or make one mourner weep the less?
And thou, who tell'st me to forget,

Thy looks are wan, thine eyes are wet.

1815.

10

15

Lord Byron.

LUCY

I

STRANGE fits of passion have I known:

And I will dare to tell,

But in the Lover's ear alone,

What once to me befell.

When she I loved look'd every day

Fresh as a rose in June,

I to her cottage bent my way,
Beneath an evening-moon.

Upon the moon I fix'd my eye,
All over the wide lea;