I, meanwhile, for the loss of a single small chit of a girl, sit Moping and mourning here,-for her, and myself much smaller. Whither depart the souls of the brave that die in the battle, Die in the lost, lost fight, for the cause that perishes with them? Are they uphorne from the field on the slumberous pinions of angels Unto a far-off home, where the weary rest from their labor, And the deep wounds are healed, and the bitter and burning moisture Wiped from the generous eyes? or do they linger, unhappy, Pining, and haunting the grave of their by-gone hope and endeavor? All declamation, alas! though I talk, Wreck of the Lombard youth, and the ENVOI So go forth to the world, to the good report and the evil! WHAT Voice did on my spirit fall, The tricolor-a trampled rag- I see the Croat soldier stand Yet not in vain, although in vain, OR shall I say, Vain word, false thought, Not ours to give or lose is life; That rivers flow into the sea Showers fall upon the hills, springs flow, No! no vain voice did on me fall, IN THE DEPTHS IT is not sweet content, be sure, pure From hearts that inly writhe with wrong? "T is not the calm and peaceful breast That sees or reads the problem true; They only know, on whom 't has prest Too hard to hope to solve it too. Our ills are worse than at their ease These blameless happy souls suspect, They only study the disease, Alas, who live not to detect. 1862. THE LATEST DECALOGUE THOU shalt have one God only; who Would be at the expense of two? No graven images may be From whom advancement may befall; Thou shalt not kill; but need'st not strive Officiously to keep alive: Thou shalt not steal; an empty feat, . FROM DIPSYCHUS 1862. This world is very odd we see, Being common sense, it can't be sin The pleasure to take pleasure in ; These juicy meats, this flashing wine, They have a singular coherence. Oh yes, my pensive youth, abstain ; Trust me, I've read your German sage Whom God deludes is well deluded. 1849. 1869. Where are the great, whom thou would'st wish to praise thee? Where are the pure, whom thou would'st choose to love thee? Where are the brave, to stand supreme above thee, Whose high commands would cheer, whose chiding raise thee? Seek, seeker, in thyself; submit to find When the enemy is near thee, In our hands we will upbear thee, Call when all good friends have left thee, Call, and following close behind thee There shall haste, and there shall find thee, Help, sure help. SAY NOT THE STRUGGLE NOUGHT SAY not the struggle nought availeth, And as things have been they remain. If hopes were dupes, fears may be liars; It may be, in yon smoke concealed, Your comrades chase e'en now the fliers, And, but for you, possess the field. For while the tired waves, vainly breaking, Seem here no painful inch to gain, Far back, through creeks and inlets making, Comes silent, flooding in, the main. And not by eastern windows only, When daylight comes, comes in the light, [slowly, In front, the sun climbs slow, how But westward, look, the land is bright. 1849. 1862. Long ere to-day Corruption that sad perfect work hath done, Which here she scarcely, lightly had begun : The foul engendered worm Feeds on the flesh of the life-giving form Of our most Holy and Anointed One. He lies and moulders low; What if the women, ere the dawn was gray, Saw one or more great angels, as they say (Angels, or Him himself)? Yet neither there, nor then, Nor afterwards, nor elsewhere, nor at all, Hath He appeared to Peter or the Ten; Nor save in thunderous terror, to blind Saul; Save in an after Gospel and late Creed, Or, what if e'en, as runs a tale, the Ten Saw, heard, and touched, again and yet again? What if at Emmaüs' inn, and by Capernaum's Lake, Came One, the bread that brake Nor verify; So spread the wondrous fame; Lay senseless, mouldering, low: Christ was not risen! Ashes to ashes, dust to dust; Is He not risen, and shall we not rise? What did we dream, what wake we to discover? Ye hills, fall on us, and ye mountains, cover! In darkness and great gloom Come ere we thought it is our day of doom; From the cursed world, which is one tomb, Christ is not risen! Here, on our Easter Day We rise, we come, and lo! we find Him not, Gardener nor other, on the sacred spot: Where they have laid Him there is none to say; No sound, nor in, nor out-no word Of where to seek the dead or meet the living Lord. There is no glistering of an angel's wings, There is no voice of heavenly clear behest: Let us go hence, and think upon these things In silence, which is best. |