Lyrical Poems :: :: University of Virginia Library

One statesman the less,—one friend the poorer,—
While the year from its cradle comes lusty and gay;
In its strength and its youth we seem'd younger and surer;
Death said ‘Ye are mine!—lo, I call one:—obey!’

Could'st thou not take one ripe for the reaping,
Spare to our love the true-hearted and brave;
Lightning of insight, and brightness unsleeping;
Wit ne'er too trenchant, nor wisdom too grave?
Thirty years more, in our blindness we reckon'd,
This heart, all his graces and gifts, were our own:
One came between in a moment and beckon'd,
And he rose in silence and follow'd alone:—

131

Follow'd alone from the house where we knew him
Into the darkness that eye cannot trace:—
Thither the heart will oft strain and pursue him,
Glimpses and hints of a vanishing face.

Thirty years more, should the friends who deplore him
Meet, as in days without foresight or fear,
Vacant one place in our hearts will be for him,
One voice be listen'd for . . . Ah! he is here!
—Nevermore, O, nevermore!—and the gladness
Drops from our eyes and our voices away;
Hopes that are memories; smiles that are sadness;—
Love should be never, or be Love for aye!

Youth with his radiance leaves us, and slowly
Shadow-wing'd night hovers nearer above;
Light after light from our heaven fades wholly,
Blankness where shone the star-faces of love.
Oft the dear image arising before us
Deep in our hearts will rekindle the pain;
Oft will his presence in secret be o'er us,
We who his like will not look on again.

132

World that in blatant success has its pleasure,
Little it knows of the soul that was here;
Judgment with learning allied in full measure,
Mind of the statesman, and eye of the seer.
On our horizon as danger is growing
‘Were he but here!’ the heart whispers, and sighs:
Now, where earth's knowledge seems hardly worth knowing,
He may not teach the new lore of the skies.
Faithful and true!—Affection unsleeping,
Wisdom mature, ere thy summer had flown;—
Ah, in thy youth thou wast ripe for the reaping;
He who had lent thee, now calls back his own.

Tender and true!—One look more as we leave thee
Silent and cold in the bloom of thy day;
One more adieu ere the Master receive thee;—
Love that has once been, is Love for aye.