This is the curse of time. Alas! In grief I am not all unlearn'd; Once thro' mine own doors Death did pass; One went, who never hath return'd. He will not smile-not speak to me Two years his chair is seen Once more. Empty before us. That was he Without whose life I had not been. Your loss is rarer; for this star Rose with you thro' a little arc Of heaven, nor having wander'd far Shot on the sudden into dark. I knew your brother: his mute dust I have not look'd upon you nigh, Since that dear soul hath fall'n asleep. Great Nature is more wise than I: I will not tell you not to weep. And tho' 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." Let Grief be her own mistress still. She loveth her own anguish deep More than much pleasure. Let her will I will not say "God's ordinance Of Death is blown in every wind;" 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. Vain solace! Memory standing near Cast down her eyes, and in her throat Her voice seem'd distant, and a tear I wrote I know not what. In truth, For he too was a friend to me: Both are my friends, and my Bleedeth for both; yet it may be That only silence suiteth best. true breast 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. Sleep sweetly, tender heart, in peace: While the stars burn, the moons increase, Sleep till the end, true soul and sweet. Sleep full of rest from head to feet; Lie still, dry dust, secure of change. You ask me, why, tho' ill at ease, Whose spirits falter in the mist, 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 fullness 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, And individual freedom mute; Tho' Power should make from land to land Yet waft me from the harbour-mouth, The palms and temples of the South. |