My Lyrical Life :: :: University of Virginia Library

The Merry Bells ring in the Christmas Day,
While in our hearts a mournful knell is knolled,
As other tidings through the land are rolled—
Telling of a great spirit passed away.

Another heart of English Oak gone down,
Like some three-decker striking with no word
Of warning; sails all set; all hands aboard;
When sunniest skies were smiling with their crown.

Low lies the stately form that towered so tall,
With life so lusty, and with look so brave;
The head thrown back, as if to breast the wave
For many a year—the wave that whelmeth all.

For all the sobs that rise, or tears that rain,
No more fond, fatherly words for Lad and Lass!
No more across his manly face will pass
The light of passion, or the shadow of pain.

We never told our love! He would have thought
We prattled prettily, amused the while;
And held us at a distance with his smile,
Until we hid the presents we had brought.

Now we might stroke the almost young, white hair,
And even kiss the cold and quiet brow;
The heart may have its way, and speak out now:
He will not mock us, lying silent there!

A nature—not at first sight meant to win—
That prickly for protection grows without,
To safely fence its tenderness about,
And fold the sweet virginities within:

Just as you find a nest whose outer form
Looks grimly rugged when the boughs are bare;
The birds have flown—you peep inside, and there
How softly it was lined! how brooding-warm!

He had our English way of making fun
Of those shy feelings which our hearts will hold
Like dew-drops all a-tremble, and enfold
Them with our sheltering strength from storm and sun.

We listened to his voice, as some true Wife,
Upon her Husband's breast may lean her head,
While many things in her dispraise are said
By Him; but she leans closer, life to life,

For, while the covert words sound on above,
Their other, deeper meaning she divines;
She hears his heart; knows its masonic signs;
And nestles in a bosom large with love.

So loud he cried, a Snake in Beauty's bower;
A Worm that gnaws at life's most human root;
A Wasp that revels in our rarest fruit;
So gently breathed the fragrance of the flower!

He kept his Show-Box—scant of Mirrors where
You saw Eternity whose worlds we pass
Darkly by daylight, but, with many a glass,
Reflecting all the Humours of the Fair!

The thousand shapes of vanity and sin;
Toy-stalls of Satan; the mad masquerade:
The floating Pleasures that before them played:
The foolish faces following, all agrin.

He slyly pricked the bubbles that we blew;
He cheered us on to chase our thistle-down;
Crowning the winner with a Fool's-cap Crown;
And Bon-Bons mottoed in quaint mockery threw.

Then in the merry midst some sad, strange words
Would touch the spring of tears. His eyes were dry,
And, as your laughters ceased, were wondering why?
Laugh on! He had only struck the minor chords!

He was not one of those who are light at heart
Because 'tis empty in its airy swing:
He found the world too full of sorrowing,
But showed us how to smile and bear our smart.

Many of God's most precious gifts are sad
To tears, and, though no weeper, this he knew.
So, in our merry wine, would steep the rue,
That with a manlier strength we might grow glad.

And, year by year, still kindlier to the last,
He drew us towards him; showing more and more,
The heart of honey, human to the core,
That into Love's full flower ripened fast:

Thus Music sweetens to the latest breath,
And closer draws the leaning, listening ear;
And still it whispers, from its heaven near,
Of some more perfect sweetness beyond death.

Large-hearted, brave, sincere, compassionate!
We could not guess one half the Angels see:
They found you out, Old Friend, ere we did! We
But reach the nobler justice all too late.

Soft, O Beloved! be your early Rest,
And sweet its quiet when the grassy green
Shuts out so many and many a sorry scene:
Heaven sun the hoarded fragrance from your breast!

And may the Spirit that with us but gropes
And stirs our earth, and yearns up through our night
In strivings dumb, with you have found the Light
That giveth eyes to poor, blind human hopes.

For us—I know you would have us put away
The tears; draw closer, man the gap, and keep
Old kindly customs; sing the sorrow asleep,
And all make merry, this being Christmas Day.