IV.

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.

V.

This is the curse of time. Alas!

In grief I am not all unlearned;

Once through mine own doors Death did pass; One went, who never hath returned.

VI.

He will not smile.

not speak to me

years his chair is seen

Once more. Two

Empty before us. That was he

Without whose life I had not been.

VII.

Your loss is rarer; for this star

Rose with you through a little arc

Of heaven, nor having wandered far,
Shot on the sudden into dark.

I knew

VIII.

your brother: his mute dust

I honor, and his living worth: A man more pure and bold and just Was never born into the earth.

IX.

I have not looked upon you nigh,

Since that dear soul hath fallen asleep.

Great Nature is more wise than I:

I will not tell you not to weep.

X.

And though my own eyes fill with dew, Drawn from the spirit through the brain,

I will not even preach to you,

"Weep, weeping dulls the inward pain."

XI.

Let Grief be her own mistress still.

She loveth her own anguish deep

More than much pleasure. Let her will
Be done to weep or not to weep.

XII.

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.

XIII.

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.

XIV.

Vain solace! Memory standing near

Cast down her eyes, and in her throat

Her voice seemed distant, and a tear
Dropt on the letters as I wrote.

XV.

I wrote I know not what. In truth,

How should I soothe you anyway, Who miss the brother of your youth? Yet something I did wish to say:

XVI.

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.

XVII.

Words weaker than your grief would make 'T were better I should cease;

Grief more.

Although myself could almost take

The place of him that sleeps in peace :

XVIII.

Sleep sweetly, tender heart, in peace:
Sleep, holy spirit, blessed soul,

While the stars burn, the moons increase,
And the great ages onward roll.

XIX.

Sleep till the end, true soul and sweet.

Nothing comes to thee new or strange.

Sleep full of rest from head to feet;

Lie still, dry dust, secure of change.

You ask me, why, though ill at ease, Within this region I subsist,

Whose spirits falter in the mist, And languish for the purple seas?

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.