Thy curse it was to see and hear Into a life more true and clear, - "Thou sow'st no gold, and shalt not reap!' Muttered Earth, turning in her sleep; "Come home to the eternal deep!" Murmured a voice, and a wide sweep Of wings through thy soul's hush did creep, It seemed as thy strong heart would leap But not with fear of dying; Men could not fathom thy deep fears, The hoarded agony of years Of bitter self-denying;, So once, when, high above the spheres, Of brothers who denied it; Star-crowned, thou dost possess the deeps Of God, and thy white body sleeps Where the lone pine for ever keeps Patient watch beside it. Poet! underneath the turf, Soft thou sleepest, free from morrow; Thou hast struggled through the surf Of wild thoughts, and want, and sorrow; Now, beneath the moaning pine, Full of rest thy body lieth, While, far up in pure sunshine, Her loosed wings thy spirit trieth; For our dingy atmosphere. Thy body findeth ample room In its still and grassy tomb By the silent river; But thy spirit found the earth Which it dreamed of ever; Thou wast guilty of a rhyme 1841 Learned in a benigner clime, And of that more grievous crime, – An ideal too sublime For the low-hung sky of Time. The calm spot where thy body lies It is so still and holy; Thy body sleeps serenely there, It was so beautiful and rare, Lily-white so wholly : From so pure and sweet a frame Thy spirit parted as it came, Gentle as a maiden; Now it hath its full of rest, Sods are lighter on its breast Than the great prophetic guest Wherewith it was laden. THE SHEPHERD OF KING ADMETUS. THERE came a youth upon the earth, Some thousand years ago, Whose slender hands were nothing worth, He made a lyre, and drew therefrom Music so strange and rich, That all men loved to hear, - and some But King Admetus, one who had Pure taste by right divine, Decreed his singing not too bad To hear between the cups of wine : And so, well-pleased with being soothed Into a sweet half-sleep, Three times his kingly beard he smoothed, And made him viceroy o'er his sheep. His words were simple words enough That what in other mouths was rough Men called him but a shiftless youth, In whom no good they saw; And yet, unwittingly, in truth, They made his careless words their law. They knew not how he learned at all, He sat and watched the dead leaves fall, It seemed the loveliness of things |