 | Poems from the Garland of New Poetry |  |
3
THE SOLITARIES
Hampden, when charge on charge o'er Chalgrove Field
Was broken, and thou took'st thy desolate way
Forth from the battle, ere the clarions pealed
To tell thee thy old cause had lost the day,
Was broken, and thou took'st thy desolate way
Forth from the battle, ere the clarions pealed
To tell thee thy old cause had lost the day,
Thou wounded unto death, thou quite fordone,
Thou riding with droopt head and hands declined
Upon the saddle, hadst indeed begun
To be the symbol of the Lonely Mind.
Thou riding with droopt head and hands declined
Upon the saddle, hadst indeed begun
To be the symbol of the Lonely Mind.
For some there be who dwell in solitude,
Though honours brighten and though friends acclaim,
And hourly fame and faith repel the rude
Onset of thickening years and Death's last shame;
Though honours brighten and though friends acclaim,
And hourly fame and faith repel the rude
Onset of thickening years and Death's last shame;
4
Ay, some, great Rebel, though exceeding strait
Their little walk in life, more than obscure,
Like thee have still foretasted the lone fate
Which at the close of all thou didst endure.
Their little walk in life, more than obscure,
Like thee have still foretasted the lone fate
Which at the close of all thou didst endure.
To live alone—that is their doom: to die
Unhelpt by earthly aids, lover or friend,
Reason, a bird along the lonely sky,
Guiding their desolate footsteps unto the end;
Unhelpt by earthly aids, lover or friend,
Reason, a bird along the lonely sky,
Guiding their desolate footsteps unto the end;
Reason, a golden angel climbing still
In uttermost heav'n above their painful road,
A strong compelling spirit, whose stern will
Is their prime glory and their heavy load.
In uttermost heav'n above their painful road,
A strong compelling spirit, whose stern will
Is their prime glory and their heavy load.
Thou hadst a mighty king wherewith to cope:
They but oppressors small, who, day by day,
Pettily sap their every faith and hope:
Yet are ye one in sorrows, thou and they!
They but oppressors small, who, day by day,
Pettily sap their every faith and hope:
Yet are ye one in sorrows, thou and they!
Hampden, on this June morn, when every air
Is sweet with rose-bloom and the summer's breath,
Some solitaries know thy last despair
Through Reason and old ever-beckoning Death.
Is sweet with rose-bloom and the summer's breath,
Some solitaries know thy last despair
Through Reason and old ever-beckoning Death.
| Poems from the Garland of New Poetry | |