X. And though mine own eyes fill with dew, Drawn from the spirit thro' the brain, I will not even preach to you, "Weep, weeping dulls the inward pain. XI. Let Grief be her own mistress still. More than much pleasure. Let her will I will not say XII. "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 seem'd distant, and a tear XV. I wrote I know not what. In truth, 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 Grief more. "Twere better I should cease; 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, 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. Should banded unions persecute When single thought is civil crime, Though Power should make from land to land The name of Britain trebly great— Though every channel of the State Should almost choke with golden sand Yet waft me from the harbour-mouth, The palms and temples of the South. Of old sat Freedom on the heights, The thunders breaking at her feet : Above her shook the starry lights: Within her place she did rejoice, Self-gather'd in her prophet-mind, But fragments of her mighty voice Then stept she down thro' town and field To mingle with the human race, And part by part to men reveal'd Grave mother of majestic works, From her isle-altar gazing down, Who, God-like, grasps the triple forks, And, King-like, wears the crown: N |