The Two Brothers, and other poems By Edward Henry Bickersteth |
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ODE ON THE THIRD CENTENARY OF THE
ANNUAL COMMEMORATION IN
TRINITY COLLEGE. |
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| II. |
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| V. |
| VI. |
| VII. |
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 | The Two Brothers, and other poems |  |
182
ODE ON THE THIRD CENTENARY OF THE ANNUAL COMMEMORATION IN TRINITY COLLEGE.
How sweep they by so fast
Those chariot-wheels of Time!
On, onward, swifter than the wintry blast
Athwart a wintry clime:
On, on—another hundred years
Pass'd, like a dream o' the night.
There is no space for mirth, no time for tears,
The swift hours sleep not in their flight,
The rivers pause not, and the mighty spheres
Still track their course of everlasting light.
Yet touch thy harp-strings, minstrel: let the throng
Sweep heedlessly along:
Pause, and with thoughtful spirits cast thine eye
Across the mighty regions left behind;
For spots lie there eternally enshrined,
And hours that will not die.
Those chariot-wheels of Time!
On, onward, swifter than the wintry blast
Athwart a wintry clime:
On, on—another hundred years
Pass'd, like a dream o' the night.
There is no space for mirth, no time for tears,
The swift hours sleep not in their flight,
The rivers pause not, and the mighty spheres
Still track their course of everlasting light.
Yet touch thy harp-strings, minstrel: let the throng
Sweep heedlessly along:
183
Across the mighty regions left behind;
For spots lie there eternally enshrined,
And hours that will not die.
Another hundred years,
From yonder sacred pile;
The chime this day hath fallen on our ears
To bid us gather in that holy aisle,
Where once our fathers gather'd: they have gone
To their long home: and we, a little while,
Forth issuing from the cloud, speed on
Across the narrow twilight bridge, that lies
Betwixt two vast eternities,
Then hasten underneath
The second cloud of death,
That skirts the confines where our fathers are,
A land that is so nigh, and seems so far.
They must not pass without a tear away,
We must not live without deep thoughts of them;
The mists are transient as the summer day,
But stars live on in Heaven's great diadem.
From yonder sacred pile;
The chime this day hath fallen on our ears
To bid us gather in that holy aisle,
Where once our fathers gather'd: they have gone
To their long home: and we, a little while,
Forth issuing from the cloud, speed on
Across the narrow twilight bridge, that lies
Betwixt two vast eternities,
Then hasten underneath
The second cloud of death,
That skirts the confines where our fathers are,
A land that is so nigh, and seems so far.
They must not pass without a tear away,
We must not live without deep thoughts of them;
The mists are transient as the summer day,
But stars live on in Heaven's great diadem.
184
Thrice have a hundred years pass'd by
These sacred walls, deepens the echoing cry.
And countless visions sweep
O'er fancy's startled sleep,
Of fields of glory, wreaths of fame,
And victories won on stormy seas,
And many a warrior's spotless name—
Ay, nobler deeds than these.
Heroes, who fought, but for no earthly crown;
Who fell, but ask'd of mortals no renown;
Who dared to combat for their country's God,
And for their God and country dared to die:
Their blood sank deep into the country's sod,
Who weeps too late their martyr'd memory.
And still is seen the holy mien
Of England's great free-hearted Queen;
And still is heard the waves' exuberant roar
Casting the Armada's wrecks in sport upon the shore.
These sacred walls, deepens the echoing cry.
And countless visions sweep
O'er fancy's startled sleep,
Of fields of glory, wreaths of fame,
And victories won on stormy seas,
And many a warrior's spotless name—
Ay, nobler deeds than these.
Heroes, who fought, but for no earthly crown;
Who fell, but ask'd of mortals no renown;
Who dared to combat for their country's God,
And for their God and country dared to die:
Their blood sank deep into the country's sod,
Who weeps too late their martyr'd memory.
And still is seen the holy mien
Of England's great free-hearted Queen;
And still is heard the waves' exuberant roar
Casting the Armada's wrecks in sport upon the shore.
How sweep they by so fast
Those chariot-wheels of Time!
The echoes of the centuries are pass'd,
Like a faint vesper chime.
Yet stormful was the cry,
And loud the thunder as they grated by:
The crash of arms, the battle's groan;
And shatter'd fell the sacred monarch's throne;
And from her limbs imprison'd Freedom tore
Her fetters with a maniac's rage and roar:
Till listening to the voice of truth
She taught her proud heart gentler ruth:
Till o'er a freeborn race of faithful kings
Heaven waved triumphantly its guardian wings.
Those chariot-wheels of Time!
The echoes of the centuries are pass'd,
Like a faint vesper chime.
185
And loud the thunder as they grated by:
The crash of arms, the battle's groan;
And shatter'd fell the sacred monarch's throne;
And from her limbs imprison'd Freedom tore
Her fetters with a maniac's rage and roar:
Till listening to the voice of truth
She taught her proud heart gentler ruth:
Till o'er a freeborn race of faithful kings
Heaven waved triumphantly its guardian wings.
The scene is changed once more:
Beneath a midnight lamp a student sits ,
And muses oft long while, or reads by fits
Pages of human lore:
Then turns his ardent reverent look
To Nature's greater nobler book,
Where from their deep blue homes on high
The stars greet meekly his meek eye,
Interpreting the lines
Of those mysterious signs,
All dimly traced upon the awful sky.
New visions still crowd on, and memory tells
Of glorious deeds of old,
And many a patriot's name,
But bound by mightier spells
We see them glide beneath the vaporous fold
Of the great past, nor linger o'er their fame:
Though oft, in evening's twilight dews,
We fondly love to muse,
That whilome those high sages' feet
Here humbly trode this still retreat,
And learn'd to bend a childlike ear
To the low voice of heavenly wisdom here.
Beneath a midnight lamp a student sits ,
And muses oft long while, or reads by fits
Pages of human lore:
Then turns his ardent reverent look
To Nature's greater nobler book,
Where from their deep blue homes on high
The stars greet meekly his meek eye,
Interpreting the lines
Of those mysterious signs,
All dimly traced upon the awful sky.
186
Of glorious deeds of old,
And many a patriot's name,
But bound by mightier spells
We see them glide beneath the vaporous fold
Of the great past, nor linger o'er their fame:
Though oft, in evening's twilight dews,
We fondly love to muse,
That whilome those high sages' feet
Here humbly trode this still retreat,
And learn'd to bend a childlike ear
To the low voice of heavenly wisdom here.
How sweep they by so fast
Those chariot-wheels of Time!
Leaving so brief a track of glories past,
And hurrying on to crime.
Have orphan'd children cried ?
Have captive daughters pined?
Have groans, ere now, been cast aside
Unto the pitiless wind?
Have dark clouds pass'd on the stormy blast?
Darker are behind.
They gather'd long, they lower'd low;
All men trembling stood:
They shed a few first drops of woe,
At length they burst in blood!
On smiling France at first,
On guilty France they burst,
Her sainted monarch fell, her princes fled,
Her noblest, best, were number'd with the dead,
In dungeon gloom her maidens' bloom
Was counted cheap as dust;
And the innocent child there only smiled
In its young unguarded trust.
Wealth, beauty, talent died,
And the rivers ran with gore;
Thou hast drunk the blood of thy choicest pride,
Proud France!—and wilt have more?
The tempest hath not pass'd: the clouds of wrath
Sweep on enfolding in their awful gloom
All lands, Despair before their path;
Behind, the silence of the tomb.
I see them form; I see them rise;
Fainter grows the light;
Till they enshroud the glorious skies,
And liken day to night.
And beneath are the dusty plains of war,
The steed, and the warrior's brazen car,
The lightning sword, and the cannon's shock,
And the rifle's rattle on rifted rock.
And ever and anon
A lull in the storm steals on:
We listen—it is gone.
See yonder man with the eagle-eye,
And the soul that dares to do or die!
And his armies sweep from sea to sea,
And he tramples the proud, and enchains the free,
Till the earth at his fury stood aghast,
And the nations shook at his tread as he pass'd.
Desolate—desolate—the wild flood
Hath torn from the forest branch and leaf:
And Europe is weeping tears of blood:—
He sheds no tear of grief.
But there is love in heaven: and angels weep
If men forbear o'er human sufferings:
And freedom's cry, awaking from her sleep,
In the proud conqueror's ear a death-knell rings.
He fell: and, moated by the chafing waves,
For whom all earth had seem'd too small a throne,
For whom unnumber'd myriads had sunk down
Into untimely graves,
Slept in his narrow bed full tranquilly
Long silent years beneath the willow-tree.
Those chariot-wheels of Time!
Leaving so brief a track of glories past,
And hurrying on to crime.
Have orphan'd children cried ?
Have captive daughters pined?
Have groans, ere now, been cast aside
Unto the pitiless wind?
187
Darker are behind.
They gather'd long, they lower'd low;
All men trembling stood:
They shed a few first drops of woe,
At length they burst in blood!
On smiling France at first,
On guilty France they burst,
Her sainted monarch fell, her princes fled,
Her noblest, best, were number'd with the dead,
In dungeon gloom her maidens' bloom
Was counted cheap as dust;
And the innocent child there only smiled
In its young unguarded trust.
Wealth, beauty, talent died,
And the rivers ran with gore;
Thou hast drunk the blood of thy choicest pride,
Proud France!—and wilt have more?
The tempest hath not pass'd: the clouds of wrath
Sweep on enfolding in their awful gloom
All lands, Despair before their path;
Behind, the silence of the tomb.
188
Fainter grows the light;
Till they enshroud the glorious skies,
And liken day to night.
And beneath are the dusty plains of war,
The steed, and the warrior's brazen car,
The lightning sword, and the cannon's shock,
And the rifle's rattle on rifted rock.
And ever and anon
A lull in the storm steals on:
We listen—it is gone.
See yonder man with the eagle-eye,
And the soul that dares to do or die!
And his armies sweep from sea to sea,
And he tramples the proud, and enchains the free,
Till the earth at his fury stood aghast,
And the nations shook at his tread as he pass'd.
Desolate—desolate—the wild flood
Hath torn from the forest branch and leaf:
And Europe is weeping tears of blood:—
He sheds no tear of grief.
But there is love in heaven: and angels weep
If men forbear o'er human sufferings:
189
In the proud conqueror's ear a death-knell rings.
He fell: and, moated by the chafing waves,
For whom all earth had seem'd too small a throne,
For whom unnumber'd myriads had sunk down
Into untimely graves,
Slept in his narrow bed full tranquilly
Long silent years beneath the willow-tree.
Touch, minstrel, touch thy lyre again
To livelier music, for thy lay
Hath been in somewhat mournful solemn strain
For a bright festal day.
What if the world's arena hath been rife
With sounds of discord, and fell deeds of strife,—
Here they have been as echoes faint and far;
Here glide unruffled on the silent hours;
Peace dwells with Wisdom; and the evening star
Shines ever cloudless o'er these sacred towers.
What, though the tempest often sweep
Recklessly o'er the billowy deep,—
This quiet crystal fountain hath flow'd on,
Shelter'd from every storm that raves anon,
And sent its copious floods
To gladden and renew on every hand
The valleys, and the wild banks, and the woods
Of our great Fatherland.
To livelier music, for thy lay
Hath been in somewhat mournful solemn strain
For a bright festal day.
What if the world's arena hath been rife
With sounds of discord, and fell deeds of strife,—
Here they have been as echoes faint and far;
Here glide unruffled on the silent hours;
Peace dwells with Wisdom; and the evening star
Shines ever cloudless o'er these sacred towers.
What, though the tempest often sweep
Recklessly o'er the billowy deep,—
This quiet crystal fountain hath flow'd on,
Shelter'd from every storm that raves anon,
190
To gladden and renew on every hand
The valleys, and the wild banks, and the woods
Of our great Fatherland.
And might I twine one parting wreath for thee,
Dear college home, by thousand memories dear,
Ere I forsake thy tranquil shores, and steer
To the bleak pathways of the trackless sea,
'Twere only adding to the debt I owe
Of thanks, and gratitude, and filial love;
And faint my strains, and feeble were, and low,
To tell thy worth, all praise of mine above.
Nay, rather, grateful prayers shall rise, that He,
Beneath whose favouring smile
Thou art the glory of our native isle,
May ever shield, and guard, and prosper thee.
Ours only be the joy to know,
When in the world tost to and fro,
We once were shelter'd underneath thy walls,
O fairest, noblest, best of Granta's glorious halls.
Dear college home, by thousand memories dear,
Ere I forsake thy tranquil shores, and steer
To the bleak pathways of the trackless sea,
'Twere only adding to the debt I owe
Of thanks, and gratitude, and filial love;
And faint my strains, and feeble were, and low,
To tell thy worth, all praise of mine above.
Nay, rather, grateful prayers shall rise, that He,
Beneath whose favouring smile
Thou art the glory of our native isle,
May ever shield, and guard, and prosper thee.
Ours only be the joy to know,
When in the world tost to and fro,
We once were shelter'd underneath thy walls,
O fairest, noblest, best of Granta's glorious halls.
Trinity College, 1846.
| The Two Brothers, and other poems | |