Your loss is rarer; for this star I knew your brother: his mute dust I have not look'd upon you nigh, Since that dear soul hath fall'n asleep. Great Nature is more wise than I: I will not tell you not to weep. And tho' mine own eyes fill with dew, Drawn from the spirit thro' the brain, I will not even preach to you, "Weep, weeping dulls the inward pain." Let Grief be her own mistress still. I will not say 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 may be That only silence suiteth best. Words weaker than your grief would make Grief more. "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 till the end, true soul and sweet. Sleep full of rest from head to feet; Lie still, dry dust, secure of change. XLVII BRITAIN You ask me, why, tho' ill at ease, 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, Should banded unions persecute Opinion, and induce a time When single thought is civil crime, And individual freedom mute; Tho' Power should make from land to land Yet waft me from the harbour-mouth, The palms and temples of the South. XLVIII FREEDOM Of old sat Freedom on the heights, There in her place she did rejoice, Then stept she down thro' town and field Grave mother of majestic works, Her open eyes desire the truth. The wisdom of a thousand years Is in them. May perpetual youth Keep dry their light from tears; That her fair form may stand and shine, Make bright our days and light our dreams, Turning to scorn with lips divine The falsehood of extremes ! XLIX LOVE thou thy land, with love far-brought True love turn'd round on fixed poles, But pamper not a hasty time, Nor feed with crude imaginings The herd, wild hearts and feeble wings, That every sophister can lime. Deliver not the tasks of might To weakness, neither hide the ray From those, not blind, who wait for day, Tho' sitting girt with doubtful light. Make knowledge circle with the winds; Watch what main-currents draw the years: Nor toil for title, place, or touch Of pension, neither count on praise: Not clinging to some ancient saw ; Not master'd by some modern term ; Not swift nor slow to change, but firm: And in its season bring the law; That from Discussion's lip may fall With Life, that, working strongly, bindsSet in all lights by many minds, To close the interests of all. For Nature also, cold and warm, And moist and dry, devising long, Thro' many agents making strong, Matures the individual form. Meet is it changes should control So let the change which comes be free A saying, hard to shape in act; For all the past of Time reveals Ev'n now we hear with inward strife A slow-develop'd strength awaits Of many changes, aptly join'd, Is bodied forth the second whole. Regard gradation, lest the soul Of Discord race the rising wind; A wind to puff your idol-fires, And heap their ashes on the head; To shame the boast so often made, That we are wiser than our sires. Oh yet, if Nature's evil star Drive men in manhood, as in youth, If New and Old, disastrous feud, Not yet the wise of heart would cease |