The Desolation of Eyam The Emigrant, a Tale of the American Woods: and other poems. By William and Mary Howitt |
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 | The Desolation of Eyam |  |
198
THE MOUNTAIN TOMBS.
“A remnant from the flock of human kind
They lie cut off—a solitary tribe.”
D. M. Moir.
They lie cut off—a solitary tribe.”
D. M. Moir.
How strange that thronged tombs should lie
Amidst these lonely hills!
Beneath this solitary sky;
And where this river fills
The air with its perpetual coil,
And ever through the thirsty soil
Its desert-tide distils!
The river here alone is heard;
The river and its haunting bird.
Amidst these lonely hills!
Beneath this solitary sky;
And where this river fills
The air with its perpetual coil,
And ever through the thirsty soil
Its desert-tide distils!
The river here alone is heard;
The river and its haunting bird.
199
The shepherd, as he goes his round,
May halt at times to trace
How years depress the circling mound,
And from each stone efface
The names of those who sleep below,
Memorials graven long ago,
When in this silent place,
Perhaps far other sounds were heard
Than the swift river's haunting bird.
May halt at times to trace
How years depress the circling mound,
And from each stone efface
The names of those who sleep below,
Memorials graven long ago,
When in this silent place,
Perhaps far other sounds were heard
Than the swift river's haunting bird.
Sounds of man's pleasures and distress;
The living, frequent tread:
But where are they? This wilderness
Shews scarce a single shed.
And, save the shepherd to the fold
Or mountain passing, few behold
This city of the dead.
Peace to their sleep! from year to year,
How quietly they slumber here.
The living, frequent tread:
But where are they? This wilderness
Shews scarce a single shed.
And, save the shepherd to the fold
Or mountain passing, few behold
This city of the dead.
Peace to their sleep! from year to year,
How quietly they slumber here.
200
And yet, above these desert graves,
A hurricane hath swept,
Worse than the summer storm that raves
When tempests long have slept;
Wrath, horror, storms of fire and steel;
Storms, such as warring spirits feel,
Long after to be wept;
Storms, which tradition, kindling tells,
Aroused these slumberers from their cells.
A hurricane hath swept,
Worse than the summer storm that raves
When tempests long have slept;
Wrath, horror, storms of fire and steel;
Storms, such as warring spirits feel,
Long after to be wept;
Storms, which tradition, kindling tells,
Aroused these slumberers from their cells.
They came in dreams, they met by night
The shepherd on his roam;
They breathed abroad the soul of fight
For altar and for home.
Power sought their children to enthrall,
To cast o'er cot, and kirk and hall,
From its minacious dome,
Its subtle chains, contrived to awe
Proud nations, in the form of Law.
The shepherd on his roam;
They breathed abroad the soul of fight
For altar and for home.
Power sought their children to enthrall,
To cast o'er cot, and kirk and hall,
From its minacious dome,
Its subtle chains, contrived to awe
Proud nations, in the form of Law.
201
Power, on their chainless mountains trod,
And sought to interpose
Betwixt their spirits and their God,
And then, the tempest rose!
Then lovers, in the gloaming, here
Loitering, beheld a scene of fear;
They saw the tombs disclose
Their awful guests, stern forms that vowed
Death to the tyrant, and the proud.
And sought to interpose
Betwixt their spirits and their God,
And then, the tempest rose!
Then lovers, in the gloaming, here
Loitering, beheld a scene of fear;
They saw the tombs disclose
Their awful guests, stern forms that vowed
Death to the tyrant, and the proud.
Then from the hills,
and wild moors came
The flashing of fierce blades;
Then cries which set the soul on flame
Were heard; and flitting shades,
In martial troops, and forms more bold
Than shades themselves are wont to mould,
Marched out from dens and glades.
And every hut and sheiling high
Thrilled to the spirit of that cry.
The flashing of fierce blades;
Then cries which set the soul on flame
Were heard; and flitting shades,
In martial troops, and forms more bold
Than shades themselves are wont to mould,
Marched out from dens and glades.
And every hut and sheiling high
Thrilled to the spirit of that cry.
202
The war-shock came—the fury burst,
And, far and wide, the fire,
In secret to combustion nursed,
Smote thousands in its ire.
It raged—it spread—the assailant now
Lowered to the insulted earth his brow;
And now the oppressed retire,
Their baffled heads in wilds to hide
From maddening power's resurgent tide.
And, far and wide, the fire,
In secret to combustion nursed,
Smote thousands in its ire.
It raged—it spread—the assailant now
Lowered to the insulted earth his brow;
And now the oppressed retire,
Their baffled heads in wilds to hide
From maddening power's resurgent tide.
It came in vain.—'Tis thus the dead—
Still for their children strive;
Thus, from the darkness of their bed,
Keep liberty alive;
Thus, even as in the present hour,
They live in victory, and in power,
And from past years arrive
With deathless memories—like a flock,
Peopling the desert, and the rock.
Still for their children strive;
Thus, from the darkness of their bed,
Keep liberty alive;
Thus, even as in the present hour,
They live in victory, and in power,
And from past years arrive
With deathless memories—like a flock,
Peopling the desert, and the rock.
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