Poems

Begins to wane, and that thou walk’st alone
Upon the rocky strand, whilst loud and clear,
The autumn wind sings, from his cloudy throne,
Wild requiems for the summer that is gone.
Or when, in sad and contemplative mood,
Thy feet explore the leafy-paven wood:
I would my soul might reason then with thine,
Upon those themes most solemn and most strange,
Which every falling leaf and fading flower,
Whisper unto us with a voice divine;
Filling the brief space of one mortal hour,
With fearful thoughts of death, decay, and change,
And the high mystery of that after birth,
That comes to us, as well as to the earth.

SONNET

By jasper founts, whose falling waters make
Eternal music to the silent hours;
Or ’neath the gloom of solemn cypress bowers,
Through whose dark screen no prying sunbeams break:
How oft I dream I see thee wandering,
With thy majestic mien, and thoughtful eyes,
And lips, whereon all holy counsel lies,
And shining tresses of soft rippling gold,
Like to some shape beheld in days of old
By seer or prophet, when, as poets sing,
The gods had not forsaken yet the earth,
But loved to haunt each shady dell and grove;
When ev’ry breeze was the soft breath of love,
When the blue air rang with sweet sounds of mirth,
And this dark world seemed fair as at its birth.

THE VISION OF LIFE

Death and I,
On a hill so high,
Stood side by side:
And we saw below,
Running to and fro,
All things that be in the world so wide.

Ten thousand cries
From the gulf did rise,
With a wild discordant sound;
Laughter and wailing,
Prayer and railing,
As the ball spun round and round.

And over all
Hung a floating pall
Of dark and gory veils:
’Tis the blood of years,
And the sighs and tears,
Which this noisome marsh exhales.

All this did seem
Like a fearful dream,
Till Death cried with a joyful cry:
“Look down! look down!
It is all mine own,
Here comes life’s pageant by!”

Like to a masque in ancient revelries,
With mingling sound of thousand harmonies,
Soft lute and viol, trumpet-blast and gong,
They came along, and still they came along!
Thousands, and tens of thousands, all that e’er
Peopled the earth, or ploughed th’ unfathomed deep,

All that now breathe the universal air,
And all that in the womb of Time yet sleep.
Before this mighty host a woman came,
With hurried feet, and oft-averted head;
With accursed light
Her eyes were bright,

And with inviting hand them on she beckoned.
Her followed close, with wild acclaim,
Her servants three: Lust, with his eye of fire,
And burning lips, that tremble with desire,
Pale sunken cheek:—and as he staggered by,
The trumpet-blast was hush’d, and there arose

A melting strain of such soft melody,
As breath’d into the soul love’s ecstacies and woes.
Loudly again the trumpet smote the air,
The double drum did roll, and to the sky
Bay’d War’s bloodhounds, the deep artillery;
And Glory,

With feet all gory,
And dazzling eyes, rushed by,
Waving a flashing sword and laurel wreath,
The pang, and the inheritance of death.
He pass’d like lightning—then ceased every sound
Of war triumphant, and of love’s sweet song,

And all was silent—Creeping slow along,
With eager eyes, that wandered round and round,