 | The Poetical Works of (Richard Monckton Milnes) Lord Houghton |  |
292
IN MEMORIAM.
LADY CAMPBELL.
Gently supported by the ready aid
Of loving hands, whose little work of toil
Her grateful prodigality repaid
With all the benediction of her smile,
She turned her failing feet
To the soft-pillowed seat,
Dispensing kindly greetings all the while.
Of loving hands, whose little work of toil
Her grateful prodigality repaid
With all the benediction of her smile,
She turned her failing feet
To the soft-pillowed seat,
Dispensing kindly greetings all the while.
Before the tranquil beauty of her face
I bowed in spirit, thinking that she were
A suff'ring Angel, whom the special grace
Of God entrusted to our pious care,
That we might learn from her
The art to minister
To heavenly beings in seraphic air.
I bowed in spirit, thinking that she were
A suff'ring Angel, whom the special grace
Of God entrusted to our pious care,
That we might learn from her
The art to minister
To heavenly beings in seraphic air.
There seemed to lie a weight upon her brain,
That ever pressed her blue-veined eyelids down,
But could not dim her lustrous eyes with pain,
Nor seam her forehead with the faintest frown:
She was as she were proud,
So young, to be allowed
To follow Him who wore the thorny crown.
That ever pressed her blue-veined eyelids down,
But could not dim her lustrous eyes with pain,
Nor seam her forehead with the faintest frown:
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So young, to be allowed
To follow Him who wore the thorny crown.
Nor was she sad, but over every mood,
To which her lightly-pliant mind gave birth,
Gracefully changing, did a spirit brood,
Of quiet gaiety, and serenest mirth;
And thus her voice did flow,
So beautifully low,
A stream whose music was no thing of earth.
To which her lightly-pliant mind gave birth,
Gracefully changing, did a spirit brood,
Of quiet gaiety, and serenest mirth;
And thus her voice did flow,
So beautifully low,
A stream whose music was no thing of earth.
Now long that instrument has ceased to sound,
Now long that gracious form in earth has lain
Tended by nature only, and unwound
Are all those mingled threads of Love and Pain;
So let me weep and bend
My head and wait the end,
Knowing that God creates not thus in vain.
Now long that gracious form in earth has lain
Tended by nature only, and unwound
Are all those mingled threads of Love and Pain;
So let me weep and bend
My head and wait the end,
Knowing that God creates not thus in vain.
294
GEORGE VERNON COLEBROKE.
Thou too art gone, and yet I hardly knowWhy thou didst care to go:
Thou wert so well at heart, so spirit-clear,
So heavenly-calm, though here;
But thus it is; and, it would seem, no more
Can we, who on the shore
Of the loud world still walk, escape the din,
And lie awhile within
The quiet sunlight of thy filmless mind
And rise refreshed, refined;
Yet am I mild and tempered in my grief,
Having a sure relief;—
For these dear hours on life's dull length were sprent,
By rarest accident,
And now I have thee by me when I will,
Hear thy wise words, and fill
My soul with thy calm looks; now I can tame
Ill thoughts by thy mere name.
Death, the Divorcer, has united us
With bands impervious
To any tooth of Time, for they are wove
Of the same texture as an Angel's Love.
February 23, 1835.
295
ARTHUR AND HELEN HALLAM.
A Brother and a Sister,—these two Friends,
Cast by fond Nature in one common mould,
And waited on by genial circumstance
In all their history of familiar love,
After a parting of not quite four years,
Are peacefully united here once more.
Cast by fond Nature in one common mould,
And waited on by genial circumstance
In all their history of familiar love,
After a parting of not quite four years,
Are peacefully united here once more.
He first, as best beseemed the manly mind,
Tried the dark wall, which has (or seems to have)
No portion in the pleasant sun or stars,
The breath of flowers or morning-song of birds,
The hand of Friendship or the lips of Love.
Whether her sad and separated soul
Received some token from that secret place,
That she might follow him and meet him there,
Or whether God, displeased that anything
Of good or evil should so long divide
Such undefiled and sacred sympathies,
Has made them one again before his face,
Are things that we perhaps shall never know.
Tried the dark wall, which has (or seems to have)
No portion in the pleasant sun or stars,
The breath of flowers or morning-song of birds,
The hand of Friendship or the lips of Love.
Whether her sad and separated soul
Received some token from that secret place,
That she might follow him and meet him there,
Or whether God, displeased that anything
Of good or evil should so long divide
Such undefiled and sacred sympathies,
Has made them one again before his face,
Are things that we perhaps shall never know.
Say not, O world of short and broken sight!
That these died young: the bee and butterfly
Live longer in one active sunny hour
Than the poor tortoise in his torpid years:
The lofty flights of Thought through clear and cloud—
The labyrinthine ways that Poesy
Leads her beloved, the weary traverses
Of Reason, and the haven of calm Faith,
All had been theirs; their seamless brows had known
The seal of pain, the sacrament of tears;
And, unless Pride and Passion and bold Sin
Are all the rule and reckoning of our Being,
They have fulfilled as large a task of life
As ever veteran on the mortal field.
That these died young: the bee and butterfly
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Than the poor tortoise in his torpid years:
The lofty flights of Thought through clear and cloud—
The labyrinthine ways that Poesy
Leads her beloved, the weary traverses
Of Reason, and the haven of calm Faith,
All had been theirs; their seamless brows had known
The seal of pain, the sacrament of tears;
And, unless Pride and Passion and bold Sin
Are all the rule and reckoning of our Being,
They have fulfilled as large a task of life
As ever veteran on the mortal field.
Thus they who gave these favoured creatures birth
Deem it no hard infraction of the law
Which regulates the order of our race,
That they above their offspring raise the tomb,
And with parental piety discharge
The duties filial love delights to pay:
They read the perfect sense of the design
In that which seems exception, and they mourn,
Not that these dear ones are already gone,
But that they linger still so far behind.
Deem it no hard infraction of the law
Which regulates the order of our race,
That they above their offspring raise the tomb,
And with parental piety discharge
The duties filial love delights to pay:
They read the perfect sense of the design
In that which seems exception, and they mourn,
Not that these dear ones are already gone,
But that they linger still so far behind.
297
MRS. DENISON.
'Tis right for her to sleep between
Some of those old Cathedral-walls,
And right too that her grave is green
With all the dew and rain that falls.
Some of those old Cathedral-walls,
And right too that her grave is green
With all the dew and rain that falls.
'Tis well the organ's solemn sighs
Should soar and sink around her rest,
And almost in her ear should rise
The prayers of those she loved the best.
Should soar and sink around her rest,
And almost in her ear should rise
The prayers of those she loved the best.
'Tis also well this air is stirred
By Nature's voices loud and low,
By thunder and the chirping bird,
And grasses whispering as they grow.
By Nature's voices loud and low,
By thunder and the chirping bird,
And grasses whispering as they grow.
For all her spirit's earthly course
Was as a lesson and a sign
How to o'errule the hard divorce
That parts things natural and divine.
Was as a lesson and a sign
How to o'errule the hard divorce
That parts things natural and divine.
Undaunted by the clouds of fear,
Undazzled by a happy day,
She made a Heaven about her here,
And took, how much! with her away.
Undazzled by a happy day,
She made a Heaven about her here,
And took, how much! with her away.
Salisbury, November, 1843.
Mrs. Denison was the first wife of the Bishop of Salisbury, and is buried in a grassy space enclosed by the cloisters of that cathedral.
298
MARY AND AGNES BERRY.
Nov. 27, 1852.
Two friends within one grave we place
United in our tears,—
Sisters, scarce parted for the space
Of more than eighty years;
And she whose bier is borne to-day,
The one the last to go,
Bears with her thoughts that force their way
Above the moment's woe;
United in our tears,—
Sisters, scarce parted for the space
Of more than eighty years;
And she whose bier is borne to-day,
The one the last to go,
Bears with her thoughts that force their way
Above the moment's woe;
Thoughts of the varied human life
Spread o'er that field of time—
The toil, the passion, and the strife,
The virtue and the crime.
Yet 'mid this long tumultuous scene,
The image on our mind
Of these dear women rests serene
In happy bounds confined.
Spread o'er that field of time—
The toil, the passion, and the strife,
The virtue and the crime.
Yet 'mid this long tumultuous scene,
The image on our mind
Of these dear women rests serene
In happy bounds confined.
Within one undisturbed abode
Their presence seems to dwell,
From which continual pleasures flowed,
And countless graces fell;
Not unbecoming this our age
Of decorative forms,
Yet simple as the hermitage
Exposed to Nature's storms.
Their presence seems to dwell,
From which continual pleasures flowed,
And countless graces fell;
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Of decorative forms,
Yet simple as the hermitage
Exposed to Nature's storms.
Our English grandeur on the shelf
Deposed its decent gloom,
And every pride unloosed itself
Within that modest room;
Where none were sad, and few were dull,
And each one said his best,
And beauty was most beautiful
With vanity at rest.
Deposed its decent gloom,
And every pride unloosed itself
Within that modest room;
Where none were sad, and few were dull,
And each one said his best,
And beauty was most beautiful
With vanity at rest.
Brightly the day's discourse rolled on,
Still casting on the shore
Memorial pearls of days bygone,
And worthies now no more;
And little tales of long ago
Took meaning from those lips,
Wise chroniclers of joy and woe,
And eyes without eclipse.
Still casting on the shore
Memorial pearls of days bygone,
And worthies now no more;
And little tales of long ago
Took meaning from those lips,
Wise chroniclers of joy and woe,
And eyes without eclipse.
No taunt or scoff obscured the wit
That there rejoiced to reign;
They never could have laughed at it
If it had carried pain.
There needless scandal, e'en though true,
Provoked no bitter smile,
And even men-of-fashion grew
Benignant for a while.
That there rejoiced to reign;
They never could have laughed at it
If it had carried pain.
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Provoked no bitter smile,
And even men-of-fashion grew
Benignant for a while.
Not that there lacked the nervous scorn
At every public wrong,
Not that a friend was left forlorn
When victim of the strong:
Free words, expressing generous blood,
No nice punctilio weighed,
For deep and earnest womanhood
Their reason underlaid.
At every public wrong,
Not that a friend was left forlorn
When victim of the strong:
Free words, expressing generous blood,
No nice punctilio weighed,
For deep and earnest womanhood
Their reason underlaid.
As generations onward came,
They loved from all to win
Revival of the sacred flame
That glowed their hearts within.
While others in Time's greedy mesh
The faded garlands flung,
Their hearts went out and gathered fresh
Affections from the young.
They loved from all to win
Revival of the sacred flame
That glowed their hearts within.
While others in Time's greedy mesh
The faded garlands flung,
Their hearts went out and gathered fresh
Affections from the young.
Farewell, dear ladies! in your loss
We feel the past recede,
The gap our hands could almost cross
Is now a gulf indeed:
Ye, and the days in which your claims
And charms were early known,
Lose substance, and ye stand as names
That History makes its own.
We feel the past recede,
The gap our hands could almost cross
Is now a gulf indeed:
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And charms were early known,
Lose substance, and ye stand as names
That History makes its own.
Farewell! the pleasant social page
Is read, but ye remain
Examples of ennobled age,
Long life without a stain;
A lesson to be scorned by none,
Least by the wise and brave,
Delightful as the winter sun
That gilds this open grave.
Is read, but ye remain
Examples of ennobled age,
Long life without a stain;
A lesson to be scorned by none,
Least by the wise and brave,
Delightful as the winter sun
That gilds this open grave.
302
DRYDEN AND THACKERAY.
When one whose nervous English verse,
Public and party hates defied,
Who bore and bandied many a curse
Of angry times—when Dryden died,
Public and party hates defied,
Who bore and bandied many a curse
Of angry times—when Dryden died,
Our royal Abbey's Bishop-Dean
Waited for no suggestive prayer,
But, ere one day closed o'er the scene,
Craved as a boon to lay him there.
Waited for no suggestive prayer,
But, ere one day closed o'er the scene,
Craved as a boon to lay him there.
The wayward faith, the faulty life,
Vanished before a nation's pain;
“Panther” and “Hind” forgot their strife,
And rival statesmen thronged the fane.
Vanished before a nation's pain;
“Panther” and “Hind” forgot their strife,
And rival statesmen thronged the fane.
O gentle Censor of our age!
Prime master of our ampler tongue!
Whose word of wit and generous page
Were never wroth except with wrong,—
Prime master of our ampler tongue!
Whose word of wit and generous page
Were never wroth except with wrong,—
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Fielding—without the manners' dross,
Scott—with a spirit's larger room,
What prelate deems thy grave his loss?
What Halifax erects thy tomb?
Scott—with a spirit's larger room,
What prelate deems thy grave his loss?
What Halifax erects thy tomb?
But, may be, He who so could draw
The hidden great, the humble wise,
Yielding with them to God's good law,
Makes the Pantheon where he lies.
The hidden great, the humble wise,
Yielding with them to God's good law,
Makes the Pantheon where he lies.
The Lord Halifax sent to the Lady Elizabeth and Mr. Charles Dryden her son, that if they would give him leave to bury Mr. Dryden, he would inter him with a gentleman's private funeral, and afterwards bestow five hundred pounds on a monument in the Abbey: which, as they had no reason to refuse, they accepted.—Biog. Dict.
A bust of Thackeray has now been placed in Westminster Abbey by public subscription, and with the sanction of Dean Stanley.
304
THE DEATH OF LIVINGSTONE.
(ILALA—MAY, 1873.)
The swarthy followers stood aloof,
Unled—unfathered;
He lay beneath that grassy roof
Fresh-gathered.
Unled—unfathered;
He lay beneath that grassy roof
Fresh-gathered.
He bade them, as they passed the hut,
To give no warning
Of their still faithful presence but
“Good Morning.”
To give no warning
Of their still faithful presence but
“Good Morning.”
To him, may be, through broken sleep
And pains abated,
These words were into senses deep
Translated.
And pains abated,
These words were into senses deep
Translated.
Dear dead salutes of wife and child,
Old kirkyard greetings;
Sunrises over hill-sides wild,
Heart-beatings;
Old kirkyard greetings;
Sunrises over hill-sides wild,
Heart-beatings;
Welcoming sounds of fresh-blown seas,
Of homeward travel,
Tangles of thought last memories
Unravel.
Of homeward travel,
Tangles of thought last memories
Unravel.
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'Neath England's fretted roof of fame—
With flowers adorning
An open grave—comes up the same
“Good Morning.”
With flowers adorning
An open grave—comes up the same
“Good Morning.”
Morning o'er that weird continent
Now slowly breaking—
Europe her sullen self-restraint
Forsaking!
Now slowly breaking—
Europe her sullen self-restraint
Forsaking!
Morning of sympathy and trust
For such as bore
Their Master's spirit's sacred crust
To England's shore.
For such as bore
Their Master's spirit's sacred crust
To England's shore.
| The Poetical Works of (Richard Monckton Milnes) Lord Houghton | |