« הקודםהמשך »
I will not say
“ God's ordinance Of Death is blown in every wind;” For that is not a common chance
That takes away a noble mind.
His memory long will live alone
In all our hearts, as mournful light That broods above the fallen sun,
And dwells in heaven half the night.
Vain solace! Memory standing near
Cast down her eyes, and in her throat Her voice seem'd distant, and a tear
Dropt on the letters as I wrote.
I wrote I know not what. In truth,
How should I soothe you anyway, Who miss the brother of your youth?
Yet something I did wish to say:
For he too was a friend to me:
Both are my friends, and my true breast Bleedeth for both; yet it
be That only silence suiteth best.
Words weaker than your grief would make
'Twere better I should cease; Although myself could almost take
The place of him that sleeps in peace.
Sleep sweetly, tender heart, in peace:
Sleep, holy spirit, blessed soul, While the stars burn, the moons increase,
And the great ages onward roll.
Sleep till the end, true soul and sweet.
Nothing comes to thee new or strange. Sleep full of rest from head to feet;
Lie still, dry dust, secure of change.
You ask me, why, though ill at ease,
Within this region I subsist,
Whose spirits falter in the mist, And languish for the purple seas?
It is the land that freemen till,
That sober-suited Freedom chose,
The land, where girt with friends or foes A man may speak the thing he will ;
A land of settled government,
A land of just and old renown,
Where Freedom broadens slowly down From precedent to precedent:
Where faction seldom gathers head,
But by degrees to fullness wrought,
The strength of some diffusive thought Hath time and space to work and spread.
Should banded unions persecute
Opinion, and induce a time
When single thought is civil crime, And individual freedom mute;
Though Power should make from land to land
The name of Britain trebly great
Though every channel of the State Should almost choke with golden sand
Yet waft me from the harbour-mouth,
Wild wind! I seek a warmer sky,
And I will see before I die
The palms and temples of the South.
Of old sat Freedom on the heights,
The thunders breaking at her feet: Above her shook the starry lights:
She heard the torrents meet.
Within her place she did rejoice,
Self-gather'd in her prophet-mind, But fragments of her mighty voice
Came rolling on the wind.
Then stept she down thro’ town and field
To mingle with the human race, And part by part to men reveald
The fullness of her face