 | The Battle-Day and Other Poems |  |
The sun was trembling on the sea,
Winds were low and clouds were high,
And one bird sang on the old oak tree
When Lindsay laid him down to die.
It sang a song of early days,
Rich—rich with childhood's fairy lays.
Thus the robin sang on the linden-bough,
In the home of his youth as it called to him now;
'Twas a carol of heaven it chanted him then,
And the self-same song it was chanting again.
Winds were low and clouds were high,
And one bird sang on the old oak tree
When Lindsay laid him down to die.
It sang a song of early days,
Rich—rich with childhood's fairy lays.
Thus the robin sang on the linden-bough,
In the home of his youth as it called to him now;
'Twas a carol of heaven it chanted him then,
And the self-same song it was chanting again.
But the world had rolled with its fiery blast,
Filling the gulf 'twixt the present and past.
'Mid the madd'ning and whirlpool and roar of its wave,
He knew not his cradle-song sung o'er his grave!—
And all the spirits of his life,
His Peace, his Hope, his Love, his Strife,
Float by him wan in that solemn hour,
Bearing each a withered flower.
Colourless spectres, they cast on his sight
Forms without beauty and smiles without light!
Filling the gulf 'twixt the present and past.
'Mid the madd'ning and whirlpool and roar of its wave,
He knew not his cradle-song sung o'er his grave!—
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His Peace, his Hope, his Love, his Strife,
Float by him wan in that solemn hour,
Bearing each a withered flower.
Colourless spectres, they cast on his sight
Forms without beauty and smiles without light!
His useless life so wildly passed!—
So many deeds and none to last!—
A sigh of regret for his parting breath;
Of all that seed but one fruit—Death!
And the Beyond? To him unknown:
A tear—a knell—a prayer—a stone!
A sod wrapped round a soulless clay,
And a keyless gate to a trackless way!
For Death, to him all light without,
Was worse than agony—was Doubt.
So high a heart—so sad a fate!
Wanting but Faith to have been great.
So many deeds and none to last!—
A sigh of regret for his parting breath;
Of all that seed but one fruit—Death!
And the Beyond? To him unknown:
A tear—a knell—a prayer—a stone!
A sod wrapped round a soulless clay,
And a keyless gate to a trackless way!
For Death, to him all light without,
Was worse than agony—was Doubt.
So high a heart—so sad a fate!
Wanting but Faith to have been great.
| The Battle-Day and Other Poems | |