Long sleeps the darkling seed below, Although our brother lie asleep, Man's heart still struggles, still aspires; When hours like this the senses' gush The swooping pinions' dreadful rush, That brings the vengeance and the doom; Not man's brute vengeance, such as rends ELEGY ON THE DEATH OF DR. CHANNING. I Do not come to weep above thy pall, And mourn the dying-out of noble powers; The poet's clearer eye should see, in all Earth's seeming woe, the seed of Heaven's flowers. Truth needs no champions: in the infinite deep From Nature's heart her mighty pulses leap, Through Nature's veins her strength, undying, tides. Peace is more strong than war, and gentleness, Where force were vain, makes conquest o'er the wave; The sculptured marble brags of death-strewn fields, But Alexander now to Plato yields, Clarkson will stand where Wellington hath stood. I watch the circle of the eternal years, One lengthened roll of blood, and wrong, and tears, The poor are crushed; the tyrants link their chain; Freedom doth forge her mail of adverse fates. Men slay the prophets; fagot, rack, and cross And sovereign Beauty wins the soul at last. No power can die that ever wrought for Truth; And lives unwithered in its sinewy youth, When he who called it forth is but a name. Therefore I cannot think thee wholly gone; Thou livest in the life of all good things; What words thou spak'st for Freedom shall not die; Thou sleepest not, for now thy Love hath wings To soar where hence thy Hope could hardly fly. And often, from that other world, on this Some gleams from great souls gone before may shine, To shed on struggling hearts a clearer bliss, And clothe the Right with lustre more divine. Thou art not idle: in thy higher sphere And strength, to perfect what it dreamed of here For sure, in Heaven's wide chambers, there is room Else were our summons thither but a doom From off the starry mountain peak of song, What wars, what martyrdoms, what crimes, may come, Farewell! good man, good angel now! this hand When that day comes, O, may this hand grow cold, To face dark Slavery's encroaching blight! This laurel-leaf I cast upon thy bier; Let worthier hands than these thy wreath entwine; Upon thy hearse I shed no useless tear, For us weep rather thou in calm divine. 1842. TO THE MEMORY OF HOOD. ANOTHER star 'neath Time's horizon dropped, O Love Divine, that claspest our tired earth, Thou knowest how much a gentle soul is worth His was a spirit that to all thy poor Was kind as slumber after pain: Why ope so soon thy heaven-deep Quiet's door Freedom needs all her poets: it is they Yet thou hast called him, nor art thou unkind, That gracious natures leave their love behind Let laurelled marbles weigh on other tombs, Rustling the bannered depth of minster-glooms His epitaph shall mock the short-lived stone, He needs these few and simple lines alone "Here lies a Poet. Stranger, if to thee His claim to memory be obscure, If thou wouldst learn how truly great was he, SONNETS. I. TO A. C. L. THROUGH Suffering and sorrow thou hast passed Whose strength gives warrant of good fruit at last: But never one of steadfast cheerfulness; Robbed thee of any faith in happiness, 1840. II. What were I, Love, if I were stripped of thee, Without thee I were naked, bleak, and bare Would be as fruitless as a stream which still 1841. III. I would not have this perfect love of ours It should grow alway like that eastern tree Whose limbs take root and spread forth constantly; That love for one, from which there doth not spring Wide love for all, it is but a worthless thing. Not in another world, as poets prate, Dwell we apart above the tide of things, High floating o'er earth's clouds on faery wings; Into a holy bond of brotherhood All earthly things, making them pure and good. 1840. IV. "For this true nobleness I seek in vain, In woman and in man I find it not; I almost weary of my earthly lot, |