University of Virginia Library

SONNETS TO TWO OF THE DEAD.

I.—To Mazzini just out of Prison.

Oh, never nobler, more beloved than now!
The land thy whole life died for lives secure,
Free, crowned—and thou must stand aloof, obscure,
Far off, as one his dearest disavow—
Thy land, but not thy holy dream; for thou
Hadst shrined thy Italy in skies too pure,
Too nobly free had planned her, to endure
Triumphs of statecraft branded on her brow.
And so, the vulgar hero takes a crown;
Pale comes the martyr-saint from prison-blight;
Oh, prophet-glance, be higher, further winged!
Though now in darkness that life-star go down,
Look where it rises—the brute sword unkinged—
O'er all the days to come an orb of light.

II.—To John Stuart Mill.

Oh, noble and beloved and lost! how dim
One moment makes the world, glowed through e'en now
With fire from thy great heart. Yet must we vow,
In this dark temple of our grief, a hymn
Of worship in high strivings, must o'erbrim
Our lives from thy deep fount of wisdom, thou
Priest of a wondrous war, with tranquil brow,
Single against the world's leagued Anakim.
Strong champion of the weak! what arms were thine—
Reason sublime, red-hot with passion pure;
If taught by thee, we pierce, aspire, endure,
So art thou fighting still—yet how to bear
The divine triumph of some cause divine
Thou wilt have won for us—who art not there!