Far off, and holds her head to other stars, So Lawrence Aylmer, seated on a style A tonsured head in middle age forlorn, Mused, and was mute. On a sudden a low breath The fragile bindweed-bells and briony rings; On eyes a bashful azure, and on hair In gloss and hue the chestnut, when the shell 66 Then, wondering, ask'd her "Are you from the farm?" Yes" answer'd she. Pray stay a little pardon me; What do they call you?" strange. What surname ? " name." Katie." "Willows." "No!" "That were "That is my "Indeed!" and here he look'd so self-perplext, Who feels a glimmering strangeness in his dream. About these meadows, twenty years ago." "Have you not heard?" said Katie, we came back. We bought the farm we tenanted before. Am I so like her? so they said on board. That most she loves to talk of, come with me. But she-you will be welcome-O, come in!" XCIX THE LETTERS STILL on the tower stood the vane, A black yew gloom'd the stagnant air, I peer'd athwart the chancel pane A clog of lead was round my feet, A band of pain across my brow; "Cold altar, Heaven and earth shall meet Before you hear my marriage vow." 2 I turn'd and humm'd a bitter song That mock'd the wholesome human heart, And then we met in wrath and wrong, We met, but only meant to part. Full cold my greeting was and dry; She faintly smiled, she hardly moved; I saw with half-unconscious eye She wore the colours I approved. 3 She took the little ivory chest, With half a sigh she turn'd the key, My gifts, when gifts of mine could please; As looks a father on the things Of his dead son, I look'd on these. 4 She told me all her friends had said; But in my words were seeds of fire. 5 "Thro' slander, meanest spawn of Hell We rush'd into each other's arms. 6 We parted sweetly gleam'd the stars, The very graves appear'd to smile, So fresh they rose in shadow'd swells; C ODE ON THE DEATH OF THE DUKE OF WELLINGTON BURY the Great Duke I With an empire's lamentation, Let us bury the Great Duke To the noise of the mourning of a mighty nation, Mourning when their leaders fall, Warriors carry the warrior's pall, And sorrow darkens hamlet and hall. 2 Where shall we lay the man whom we deplore ? Let the sound of those he wrought for, And the feet of those he fought for, Echo round his bones for evermore. 3 Lead out the pageant: sad and slow, Let the long long procession go, And let the sorrowing crowd about it grow, 4 Mourn, for to us he seems the last, Rich in saving common-sense, And, as the greatest only are, In his simplicity sublime. O good gray head which all men knew, O voice from which their omens all men drew, O iron nerve to true occasion true, O fall'n at length that tower of strength Which stood four-square to all the winds that blew ! Such was he whom we deplore. The long self-sacrifice of life is o'er. The great World-victor's victor will be seen no more. All is over and done: 5 Render thanks to the Giver, That shines over city and river, Let the bell be toll'd: And a reverent people behold The towering car, the sable steeds: Bright let it be with his blazon'd deeds, Dark in its funeral fold. Let the bell be toll'd: And a deeper knell in the heart be knoll'd; And the volleying cannon thunder his loss; For many a time in many a clime His captain's-ear has heard them boom Bellowing victory, bellowing doom; When he with those deep voices wrought, In that dread sound to the great name, Which he has worn so pure of blame, A man of well-attemper'd frame. Preserve a broad approach of fame, And ever-ringing avenues of song. 6 Who is he that cometh, like an honour'd guest, With banner and with music, with soldier and with priest, With a nation weeping, and breaking on my rest? Mighty seaman, this is he Was great by land as thou by sea. Thine island loves thee well, thou famous man, The greatest sailor since our world began. To thee the greatest soldier comes; Was great by land as thou by sea; Round affrighted Lisbon drew Follow'd up in valley and glen With blare of bugle, clamour of men, Roll of cannon and clash of arms, And England pouring on her foes. Again their ravening eagle rose In anger, wheel'd on Europe-shadowing wings, Till one that sought but Duty's iron crown On that loud sabbath shook the spoiler down; |