He passed into the chamber of the sleeper, And, as he entered, darker grew, and deeper, He did not pause to parley or dissemble, But smote the Warden hoar; Ah! what a blow! that made all England tremble And groan from shore to shore. Meanwhile, without, the surly cannon waited, Henry Wadsworth Longfellow [1807-1882] MEMORIAL VERSES [WILLIAM WORDSWORTH, 1770-1850] GOETHE in Weimar sleeps, and Greece, When Byron's eyes were shut in death, And yet with reverential awe We watched the fount of fiery life Which served for that Titanic strife. When Goethe's death was told, we said: Goethe has done his pilgrimage. Ah! since dark days still bring to light Keep fresh the grass upon his grave, Matthew Arnold [1822-1888] WORDSWORTH'S GRAVE I THE old rude church, with bare, bald tower, is here; Rotha, remembering well who slumbers near. His hills, his lakes, his streams are with him yet. Surely the heart that reads her own heart clear Nature forgets not soon: 'tis we forget. We that with vagrant soul his fixity Have slighted; faithless, done his deep faith wrong; Left him for poorer loves, and bowed the knee To misbegotten strange new gods of song. Yet, led by hollow ghost or beckoning elf Far from her homestead to the desert bourn, The vagrant soul returning to herself Wearily wise, must needs to him return. wandering wave! what birth-gift hadst thou then? that the Immortals gave, - in thy turn to men? lunar music thine; dless, boundless human view; e on peaks divine; light Coleridge knew. uld make so large amends and thy peers possessed, eans to radiant ends?— feet, the gift of rest. low or thunderous haze, t-anger, tempest-mirth, found-not blast and blaze, eavens, but peace on earth. Lethe, scentless flower, rs to decline and cease; are also rapture, power, for these are parts of peace. III e is with us still;-ed than of yore, s wondrous skill felt no more. Not such the authentic Presence pure, that made No word-mosaic artificer, he sang A lofty song of lowly weal and dole. Right from the heart, right to the heart it sprang, Or from the soul leapt instant to the soul. He felt the charm of childhood, grace of youth, Impassioned? ay, to the song's ecstatic core! IV A hundred years ere he to manhood came, Thenceforth she but festooned the porch of things; Apt at life's lore, incurious what life meant. Dextrous of hand, she struck her lute's few strings; Ignobly perfect, barrenly content. Unflushed with ardor and unblanched with awe, She saw with dull emotion-if she saw- The human masque she watched, with dreamless eyes In whose clear shallows lurked no trembling shade: The stars, unkenned by her, might set and rise; Unmarked by her, the daisies bloom and fade. |