University of Virginia Library

MONTIGENA.

Might I but die knowing some sure advance
In the long travail of humanity
Toward truth and freedom and high-hearted love,
And seeing this England (which to call mine own
Shall ever thrill my heart as her free flag
Thrills with the sea-wind in it) pure and strong,
Not cankered quite with gold and gold-ward lust;
Then might I leave in mine appointed time
Life, and the things for which this life is dear,—
This goodly fellowship of faithful friends,
True-eyed congenial spirits, youth's best prize,
And the sweet smiles of women, and the gifts
Of Nature, glories of the even and morn,
The voice of seas and streams and murmuring woods,
Flowers, and the joy of birds;—these should I leave,
Not unregretful truly or unamazed
At the quick doom which mocks the hopes of men,
Yet not perturbed, or over-loth to fare
Forth from this April morning we call life.
Yet, might so much to craving fancies fall,
Fain were I, might I choose, that I should die
Among my native mountains, where these eyes
First woke to love of beauty, where I roamed
An eager child, clasping my father's hand.
Ah, great and gentle spirit, early found,
And all too early lost, so might I dream
That in the ancient voices of the hills,
The moorland wind, the lonely cataract,
Or in the hovering cloud-wreaths, thou wert near
So might my life be rounded with one joy,
The peace of Nature's presence and of thine.