 | Poems, original and translated |  |
OUR POET.
The heavens are brightening! what a shining band
In these last days from mortal sight have gone;
In solemn, swift procession passing on
To take their places in the Silent Land!
In these last days from mortal sight have gone;
In solemn, swift procession passing on
To take their places in the Silent Land!
O white-winged fleet of souls! with joy we hail,
As through the dusk we gaze the waters o'er,
Gleaming beside yon calm, eternal shore,
The welcome signal of each snowy sail!
As through the dusk we gaze the waters o'er,
Gleaming beside yon calm, eternal shore,
The welcome signal of each snowy sail!
Ye, too, have reached at last the Port of Peace;
No more on Time's tempestuous waters tossed,
With the vast throng, before you, safely crossed,
Your anchors fall where storm and turmoil cease!
No more on Time's tempestuous waters tossed,
With the vast throng, before you, safely crossed,
Your anchors fall where storm and turmoil cease!
And what new stars, new constellations, glow,
Piercing the shadows of our earthly night
With such a strange and yet familiar light,
Making our paths more heavenly here below?
Piercing the shadows of our earthly night
With such a strange and yet familiar light,
Making our paths more heavenly here below?
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And thy pure soul has joined the noble throng
Of our immortal ones who shine aloft
With steadfast, starry light, serene and soft,—
Truth's champions, Beauty's heralds, Priests of Song.
Of our immortal ones who shine aloft
With steadfast, starry light, serene and soft,—
Truth's champions, Beauty's heralds, Priests of Song.
Melodious minstrel! unto thee belong
The glowing praises by the Mantuan sung
In the sweet cadence of his tuneful tongue:
Poet Divine! (he said) to us thy song
The glowing praises by the Mantuan sung
In the sweet cadence of his tuneful tongue:
Poet Divine! (he said) to us thy song
Is grateful as the rivulet's murmuring tune
Is to the wayworn traveller when he sips
The gushing waters with his fevered lips,
Beneath the shade in summer's burning noon.
Is to the wayworn traveller when he sips
The gushing waters with his fevered lips,
Beneath the shade in summer's burning noon.
Such was our Poet; and where'er is heard
The clear, strong utterance of our mother-tongue,
Wherever English hymns or songs are sung,
His name and song are as a household word.
The clear, strong utterance of our mother-tongue,
Wherever English hymns or songs are sung,
His name and song are as a household word.
Who shall describe him? Can the artist's brush
Find colors to depict the light of day,
The breath of summer's morning to portray,
Or paint the twilight's or the midnight's hush?
Find colors to depict the light of day,
The breath of summer's morning to portray,
Or paint the twilight's or the midnight's hush?
His is the sunshine of the heart, the breath
Of a pure soul by heavenly love informed,
Of a large soul by human kindness warmed:
For such a heart, such soul, there is no death.
Of a pure soul by heavenly love informed,
Of a large soul by human kindness warmed:
For such a heart, such soul, there is no death.
| Poems, original and translated | |