The Poetical Works of Horace Smith Now First Collected. In Two Volumes |
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DIRGE FOR A LIVING POET.
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 | The Poetical Works of Horace Smith |  |
117
DIRGE FOR A LIVING POET.
What! shall the mind of bard—historian—sage,
Be prostrate laid upon oblivion's bier,
Shall darkness quench the beacon of our age,
“Without the meed of one melodious tear?”
Will none, with genius like his own,
Mourn the fine intellect o'erthrown,
That died in giving life to deathless heirs?
Are worthier voices mute? then I
The Muse's humblest votary,
Will pour my wailful dirge and sympathising prayers.
Be prostrate laid upon oblivion's bier,
Shall darkness quench the beacon of our age,
“Without the meed of one melodious tear?”
Will none, with genius like his own,
Mourn the fine intellect o'erthrown,
That died in giving life to deathless heirs?
Are worthier voices mute? then I
The Muse's humblest votary,
Will pour my wailful dirge and sympathising prayers.
118
Well may I mourn that mental sun's eclipse,
For in his study have I sate enshrined,
And reverently listen'd while his lips
Master'd the master-spirits of mankind,
As his expanding wisdom took
New range from his consulted book.—
Oh, to what noble thoughts didst thou give birth,
Thou poet-sage, whose life and mind
In mutual perfectness combined
The spirit's loftiest flight, with purest moral worth!
For in his study have I sate enshrined,
And reverently listen'd while his lips
Master'd the master-spirits of mankind,
As his expanding wisdom took
New range from his consulted book.—
Oh, to what noble thoughts didst thou give birth,
Thou poet-sage, whose life and mind
In mutual perfectness combined
The spirit's loftiest flight, with purest moral worth!
Behold the withering change! amid the rays
That form a halo round those volumed wits,
Amid his own imperishable lays
In silent, blank fatuity he sits!
Seeking a respite from his curse,
His body, now his spirit's hearse,
Still haunts that book-charm'd room, for there alone
Thought-gleams illume his wand'ring eyes,
As lightnings flicker o'er the skies
Where the departed sun in cloudless glory shone.
That form a halo round those volumed wits,
Amid his own imperishable lays
In silent, blank fatuity he sits!
Seeking a respite from his curse,
His body, now his spirit's hearse,
Still haunts that book-charm'd room, for there alone
Thought-gleams illume his wand'ring eyes,
As lightnings flicker o'er the skies
Where the departed sun in cloudless glory shone.
119
Oh withering, woful change—oh living death!
Lo! where he strays at fancy's aimless beck,
On his dementate brow the titled wreath,
A mournful mockery of reason's wreck.—
Roaming by Derwent's silent shore
Or dark-hued Greta's rushing roar,
A human statue! His unconscious stare
Knows not the once familiar spot,
Knows not the partner of his lot,
Who, as she guides him, sobs a broken-hearted prayer.
Lo! where he strays at fancy's aimless beck,
On his dementate brow the titled wreath,
A mournful mockery of reason's wreck.—
Roaming by Derwent's silent shore
Or dark-hued Greta's rushing roar,
A human statue! His unconscious stare
Knows not the once familiar spot,
Knows not the partner of his lot,
Who, as she guides him, sobs a broken-hearted prayer.
Oh flood and fell, lake, moorland, valley, hill!
Mourn the dark bard who sang your praise of yore.
Oh Rydal-Falls, Lodore, and Dungeon Gill!
Down the rock's cheek your tearful gushes pour.—
Ye crag-envelop'd Tarns that sleep
In your hush'd craters, wake and weep.—
Ye mountains! hide your sorrowing heads in cloud:
As sobbing winds around ye moan;
Helvellyn! Skiddaw! wail and groan,
And clothe your giant forms in vapour's mourning shroud.
Mourn the dark bard who sang your praise of yore.
Oh Rydal-Falls, Lodore, and Dungeon Gill!
Down the rock's cheek your tearful gushes pour.—
Ye crag-envelop'd Tarns that sleep
In your hush'd craters, wake and weep.—
Ye mountains! hide your sorrowing heads in cloud:
As sobbing winds around ye moan;
Helvellyn! Skiddaw! wail and groan,
And clothe your giant forms in vapour's mourning shroud.
120
Why make appeal to these? Ye good and wise
Who worshipp'd at his intellectual shrine,
Ye kindred natures, who can sympathise
With genius 'reft of reason's light divine,
Ye whom his learning, virtue, lays,
Taught, guided, charm'd in other days,
Let all your countless voices be combined,
As on your knees, ye pour on high
This choral supplicating cry—
Restore, restore, O God! our poet's wand'ring mind!
Who worshipp'd at his intellectual shrine,
Ye kindred natures, who can sympathise
With genius 'reft of reason's light divine,
Ye whom his learning, virtue, lays,
Taught, guided, charm'd in other days,
Let all your countless voices be combined,
As on your knees, ye pour on high
This choral supplicating cry—
Restore, restore, O God! our poet's wand'ring mind!
| The Poetical Works of Horace Smith | |