Poems by Hartley Coleridge With a Memoir of his Life by his Brother. In Two Volumes |
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ON THE DEATH OF THOMAS JACKSON,
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 | Poems by Hartley Coleridge |  |
196
ON THE DEATH OF THOMAS JACKSON,
LATE OF LOW WOOD INN, WHO DIED BY A FALL FROM AN APPLE TREE.
There is the lake and there the quiet hills,
A casual passer would observe no change;
Nor sign would see of widow's grief that kills
Even Nature's joy, and makes old beauty strange.
A casual passer would observe no change;
Nor sign would see of widow's grief that kills
Even Nature's joy, and makes old beauty strange.
The last time I beheld thee, lovely lake,
Thou wert composed in that expectant calm,
Which any sigh of love-sick maid might shake,
Or dying close of penitential psalm.
Thou wert composed in that expectant calm,
Which any sigh of love-sick maid might shake,
Or dying close of penitential psalm.
I thought of Death. Who doth not think of Death?
And felt how sweet a boon that death might be,
Were it indeed a calm to feel the breath
Whene'er it came of stirring Deity.
And felt how sweet a boon that death might be,
Were it indeed a calm to feel the breath
Whene'er it came of stirring Deity.
197
I thought of Death. But did not think how near
That awful sound to its most awful meaning;
The babe that feels its mother's breast so near,
Slumbers and sucks and never dreams of weaning.
That awful sound to its most awful meaning;
The babe that feels its mother's breast so near,
Slumbers and sucks and never dreams of weaning.
And even so we thought his honest face
Would ever greet us when we came again;
It seemed a natural product of the place,
Warmed by the sun and freshened by the rain.
Would ever greet us when we came again;
It seemed a natural product of the place,
Warmed by the sun and freshened by the rain.
But he is gone, the form we long have seen,
The vivid image that we bore away,
Is now a shadow of what once hath been,
The spectre of a body in decay.
The vivid image that we bore away,
Is now a shadow of what once hath been,
The spectre of a body in decay.
The lake is there, the hills their distance keep,
The tall trees stand as if they mourned for ever,
But leave the widowed house alone to weep,
Nor seek the widowed heart from grief to sever.
The tall trees stand as if they mourned for ever,
But leave the widowed house alone to weep,
Nor seek the widowed heart from grief to sever.
For he is gone that was to us a smile,
An honest face to welcome when he came;
Short was the time, but yet a weary while
When Death was struggling with the shattered frame.
An honest face to welcome when he came;
Short was the time, but yet a weary while
When Death was struggling with the shattered frame.
198
And many thoughts he had, as may be guessed,
And shows of earth that with the vision blended;
Shows that at times perplexed, but later blessed
The spirit equipped just ere the strife was ended.
And shows of earth that with the vision blended;
Shows that at times perplexed, but later blessed
The spirit equipped just ere the strife was ended.
Perhaps the latest object to employ
His parting thought upon the death-bed pillow,
Was the dear image of his orphan boy,
With small foot challenging the frisky billow.
His parting thought upon the death-bed pillow,
Was the dear image of his orphan boy,
With small foot challenging the frisky billow.
Whatever sight or sound possessed him last,
Whatever sound of nature tolled his knell,
Gentle the sounds and fair the forms that past
Before his closing eye, and all was well.
Whatever sound of nature tolled his knell,
Gentle the sounds and fair the forms that past
Before his closing eye, and all was well.
Yes, all was well, for 'twas the will of Him,
Who knows both when to sow and when to reap;
And now amid the smiling cherubim,
Beholds the tears of them he bad to weep.
Who knows both when to sow and when to reap;
And now amid the smiling cherubim,
Beholds the tears of them he bad to weep.
False is the creed, because the heart is dead,
That blames the widow's or the orphan's tear;
Eyes that beheld the Lord full oft were red
With human sorrow while they tarried here.
That blames the widow's or the orphan's tear;
Eyes that beheld the Lord full oft were red
With human sorrow while they tarried here.
199
Mourn, for 'tis good for all of us to mourn,
In this dark valley where our way we grope;
Our very sorrow proves us not forlorn;
We mourn, but not as mourners without hope.
In this dark valley where our way we grope;
Our very sorrow proves us not forlorn;
We mourn, but not as mourners without hope.
The lake is still the same, the changeful skies
Change by a Law that we may not control,
Sage Nature is not bound to sympathise
With every passion of a single soul.
Change by a Law that we may not control,
Sage Nature is not bound to sympathise
With every passion of a single soul.
Look not for sorrow in the changeful skies,
The mountain many-hued, or passive lake,
But look to Him, who sometimes will chastise
Those whom he loves, but never will forsake.
The mountain many-hued, or passive lake,
But look to Him, who sometimes will chastise
Those whom he loves, but never will forsake.
| Poems by Hartley Coleridge | |