MEMORIAL VERSES°
Reading edition
MEMORIAL VERSES°
April, 1850
°1Goethe in Weimar sleeps,° and Greece, °2Long since, saw Byron's° struggle cease. But one such death remain'd to come; The last poetic voice is dumb— 5We stand to-day by Wordsworth's tomb. When Byron's eyes were shut in death, We bow'd our head and held our breath. He taught us little; but our soul Had felt him like the thunder's roll. 10With shivering heart the strife we saw Of passion with eternal law; And yet with reverential awe We watch'd the fount of fiery life Which served for that Titanic strife. 15When Goethe's death was told, we said: Sunk, then, is Europe's sagest head. °17Physician of the iron age,° Goethe has done his pilgrimage. He took the suffering human race, [p.122] 20He read each wound, each weakness clear; And struck his finger on the place, And said: Thou ailest here, and here! He look'd on Europe's dying hour Of fitful dream and feverish power; 25His eye plunged down the weltering strife, The turmoil of expiring life— He said: The end is everywhere, Art still has truth, take refuge there! And he was happy, if to know 30Causes of things, and far below His feet to see the lurid flow Of terror, and insane distress, And headlong fate, be happiness. And Wordsworth!—Ah, pale ghosts, rejoice! 35For never has such soothing voice Been to your shadowy world convey'd, Since erst, at morn, some wandering shade °38Heard the clear song of Orpheus° come Through Hades, and the mournful gloom. 40Wordsworth has gone from us—and ye, Ah, may ye feel his voice as we! He too upon a wintry clime Had fallen—on this iron time Of doubts, disputes, distractions, fears. 45He found us when the age had bound Our souls in its benumbing round; He spoke, and loosed our heart in tears. He laid us as we lay at birth On the cool flowery lap of earth, 50Smiles broke from us and we had ease; The hills were round us, and the breeze [p.123] Went o'er the sun-lit fields again; Our foreheads felt the wind and rain. Our youth returned; for there was shed 55On spirits that had long been dead, Spirits dried up and closely furl'd, The freshness of the early world. Ah! since dark days still bring to light Man's prudence and man's fiery might, 60Time may restore us in his course Goethe's sage mind and Byron's force; But where will Europe's latter hour Again find Wordsworth's healing power? Others will teach us how to dare, 65And against fear our breast to steel; Others will strengthen us to bear— But who, ah! who, will make us feel The cloud of mortal destiny? Others will front it fearlessly— 70But who, like him, will put it by? Keep fresh the grass upon his grave °72O Rotha,° with thy living wave! Sing him thy best! for few or none Hears thy voice right, now he is gone.