The Desolation of Eyam The Emigrant, a Tale of the American Woods: and other poems. By William and Mary Howitt |
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A SKETCH. |
 | The Desolation of Eyam |  |
289
A SKETCH.
‘'Tis done and he is happy. His bright soul
Has not a wish uncrowned!’
Has not a wish uncrowned!’
His life was a sweet springtide, brief, but bright;
A spirit's visit in its cloudless bliss.
He knew no crippled age, no sorrow's blight;
And, as he thus was wept, it was not his
To weep for others; but, in rich delight,
The golden hours could waft him nought amiss
Buoyant with blessedness, in every limb,
This was no Earth, but a true Heaven to him.
A spirit's visit in its cloudless bliss.
He knew no crippled age, no sorrow's blight;
And, as he thus was wept, it was not his
To weep for others; but, in rich delight,
The golden hours could waft him nought amiss
Buoyant with blessedness, in every limb,
This was no Earth, but a true Heaven to him.
290
And thus he is all livingly enshrined,
In all the beauty of his boyhood; made,
For ever, and for ever, to each mind
Which loved him, a fair form which cannot fade;
Safe from each change to longer life assigned;
Still in his own peculiar mirth arrayed:
And they shall muse upon him till he be
A sweet thought in his immortality.
In all the beauty of his boyhood; made,
For ever, and for ever, to each mind
Which loved him, a fair form which cannot fade;
Safe from each change to longer life assigned;
Still in his own peculiar mirth arrayed:
And they shall muse upon him till he be
A sweet thought in his immortality.
| The Desolation of Eyam | |