LXXVII.
IN MEMORIAM C. W.
APRIL 30, 1851.
I
I cannot praise thee as I would,
I cannot speak thy worth aright:
For Death brings Silence, hand in hand,
When some dear voice is hush'd in night.
Nor wouldst thou, could the hours relive
That took their gladness from thy mirth,
Accept the praises I could give,
All too unconscious of thy worth.
II
Ah yet the heart within the heart
A blind instinctive truth will sway:
We cannot hush the voice of grief
When golden souls are snatch'd away.
When Nature mars the gift she gave:
When Hope her prophecy disowns:
When Love cries muffled from the grave,
And Death is hollow in her tones.
III
What though he shares th' enduring calm
The restless mind to life denied—
That incommunicable sleep
From earthly tumult disallied—
Our earthly love this severance fears—
This barrier set 'twixt him and me:—
—Yet trust I that these idle tears
Are not all valueless to thee.
IV
We yet recall a vanish'd form:
The voices of the Past we store:
We know the treasure we have lost:
We are not what we were before.
So true—so high—so brave—so bright—
So careless wise—so native good—
—We cannot speak thy worth aright,
We cannot praise thee as we would.
THRENOS.
True—noble—generous—loving—brave—
Not all that birthright-wealth could save
The sleeper from a youthful grave.
For God, to snatch him from the pain
Of aspirations urged in vain,
Hath to Himself His treasure ta'en.
