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1835-1895
SWEET are the ways of death to weary feet,
Calm are the shades of men.
The phantom fears no tyrant in his seat,
The slave is master then.
Love is abolish’d; well, that this is so;
We knew him best as Pain.
The gods are all cast out, and let them go!
Who ever found them gain?
Ready to hurt and slow to succour these;
So, while thou breathest, pray.
But in the sepulchre all flesh has peace;
Their hand is put away.
IN ruling well what guerdon? Life runs low,
As yonder lamp upon the hour-glass lies,
Waning and wasted. We are great and wise,
But Love is gone; and Silence seems to grow
Along the misty road where we must go.
From summits near the morning star’s uprise
Death comes, a shadow from the northern skies,
As, when all leaves are down, there comes the snow.
Brother and King, we hold our last carouse.
One loving-cup we drain and then farewell.
The night is spent: the crystal morning ray
Calls us, as soldiers laurell’d on our brows,
To march undaunted while the clarions swell—
Heroic hearts, upon our lonely way.