 | The poetical works of William H. C. Hosmer |  |
239
TRIBUTE TO THE DEAD.
“Absint inani funere næmæ,
Luctusque turpis, et querimoniæ.”
Horace.
Luctusque turpis, et querimoniæ.”
Horace.
Rest from the strife, brave spirit! uncomplaining,
With evil fortune thou hast battled long;
While heavy drops from sorrow's cloud are raining,
A lyre, long silent, vibrates into song:
I would not, if I could, thy form awaken,
To wrestle with sharp throes another hour,
Though one like thee could, with a mien unshaken,
Rob death's dissolving pang of half its power.
With evil fortune thou hast battled long;
While heavy drops from sorrow's cloud are raining,
A lyre, long silent, vibrates into song:
I would not, if I could, thy form awaken,
To wrestle with sharp throes another hour,
Though one like thee could, with a mien unshaken,
Rob death's dissolving pang of half its power.
With the plague-spot upon thy visage hollow,
Floridian shores were trod by thee in vain;
When northward Spring sent forth her herald swallow,
Panted thy heart to visit home again:
Once more to native scenes and pleasant places
Back camest thou o'er Ocean's flashing foam;
Once more thy glance on old familiar faces
Rested, while sitting by the hearth of home.
Floridian shores were trod by thee in vain;
When northward Spring sent forth her herald swallow,
Panted thy heart to visit home again:
Once more to native scenes and pleasant places
Back camest thou o'er Ocean's flashing foam;
Once more thy glance on old familiar faces
Rested, while sitting by the hearth of home.
Once more thy loving and devoted mother
Thy couch beside outwatched the stars of night;
Once more thy sire a groan would try to smother,
For skill was vain to stay the work of blight:
Brief was thy stay:—Autumnal winds are flinging
Pale, withered leaves upon thy funeral mould
While overhead are feathered armies winging
Their way to lands unvexed by frost or cold.
Thy couch beside outwatched the stars of night;
Once more thy sire a groan would try to smother,
For skill was vain to stay the work of blight:
Brief was thy stay:—Autumnal winds are flinging
Pale, withered leaves upon thy funeral mould
While overhead are feathered armies winging
Their way to lands unvexed by frost or cold.
240
And friendly hearts belief are entertaining
That thy soul journeyed to a brighter clime—
Fount of unclouded light that knows no waning,
Far, far beyond this crumbling strand of time:
How otherwise believe?—for aspirations,
That in true hearts have birth alone, were thine;
A will to dare those troubles and vexations
That drug with gall, too oft, life's sparkling wine.
That thy soul journeyed to a brighter clime—
Fount of unclouded light that knows no waning,
Far, far beyond this crumbling strand of time:
How otherwise believe?—for aspirations,
That in true hearts have birth alone, were thine;
A will to dare those troubles and vexations
That drug with gall, too oft, life's sparkling wine.
Rest from the strife, brave spirit! who would wake thee,
To waste and burn with fever-fires again;
While friends are tortured at the sight, to make thee
Feel for another hour Promethean pain?
Not all of thee is lost while comrades cherish
Fond recollections of thy worth, my friend;
Though gone, the bright example cannot perish
Of courage that upheld thee to the end.
To waste and burn with fever-fires again;
While friends are tortured at the sight, to make thee
Feel for another hour Promethean pain?
Not all of thee is lost while comrades cherish
Fond recollections of thy worth, my friend;
Though gone, the bright example cannot perish
Of courage that upheld thee to the end.
| The poetical works of William H. C. Hosmer | |