The Poetical Works of George Barlow In Ten [Eleven] Volumes |
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 | The Poetical Works of George Barlow |  |
68
TWO SONNETS
AN ACTOR'S BURIAL
I
[_]
Sir Henry Irving died at Bradford on October 13, 1905, and was buried in Westminster Abbey on October 20.
Crowned by a world whose heart his genius swayed,
Through dim October light a great man goes
From ceaseless labour to supreme repose:
The arduous part has been superbly played.
Death summoned,—and no dallying foot delayed:
The curtain falls that for the long toil rose.
To that strange stage no human eyesight knows
He passes, trusting, hopeful, undismayed.
Through dim October light a great man goes
From ceaseless labour to supreme repose:
The arduous part has been superbly played.
Death summoned,—and no dallying foot delayed:
The curtain falls that for the long toil rose.
To that strange stage no human eyesight knows
He passes, trusting, hopeful, undismayed.
Missing the actor changed into a friend,
His London for a moment feels alone.
Once more the Abbey's solemn arms extend
Welcome. No sound of ringing trumpets blown
Marshals this valiant spirit to his end,
But Memory's hands will rear his silent throne.
His London for a moment feels alone.
Once more the Abbey's solemn arms extend
Welcome. No sound of ringing trumpets blown
Marshals this valiant spirit to his end,
But Memory's hands will rear his silent throne.
69
AN ACTOR'S BURIAL
II
He saw with genius' glance the future hour
When England's nobler drama, nobly done,
Shall on some grand ideal stage be one
With English acting, a most mighty power:
Heir of the age when, bursting into flower
At Marlowe's touch, its passionate life begun,
Beneath those heavens where Shakespeare was the sun
Our drama gave to time that priceless dower.
When England's nobler drama, nobly done,
Shall on some grand ideal stage be one
With English acting, a most mighty power:
Heir of the age when, bursting into flower
At Marlowe's touch, its passionate life begun,
Beneath those heavens where Shakespeare was the sun
Our drama gave to time that priceless dower.
Shakespeare his debtor, Tennyson his friend,
While Becket's last great words became his own,
Immortal, here he met his mortal end,
Treading the lampless ghostly boards alone;
Destined through all the undying years to be
On England's stage a deathless memory.
While Becket's last great words became his own,
Immortal, here he met his mortal end,
Treading the lampless ghostly boards alone;
Destined through all the undying years to be
On England's stage a deathless memory.
| The Poetical Works of George Barlow | |