Thine eyes are shut for ever,

And Death hath had his will; He loved and would have taken, I loved and would have kept, We strove and he was stronger, And I have never wept.

Let him possess thy body,
Thy soul is still with me,
More sunny and more gladsome
Than it was wont to be:

Thy body was a fetter

That bound me to the flesh, Thank God that it is broken, And now I live afresh!

Now I can see thee clearly;
The dusky cloud of clay,
That hid thy starry spirit,

Is rent and blown away:
To earth I give thy body,
Thy spirit to the sky,

I saw its bright wings growing,
And knew that thou must fly.

Now I can love thee truly,

For nothing comes between

The senses and the spirit,

The seen and the unseen;

Lifts the eternal shadow,

The silence bursts apart,

And the soul's boundless future

Is present in my heart.

LOWELL.

A REVERIE.

IN the twilight deep and silent
Comes thy spirit unto mine,
When the starlight and the moonlight,
Over cliff and woodland shine,

And the quiver of the river

Seems a thrill of joy benign.

Then I rise and go in fancy

To the headland by the sea,
When the evening-star throbs setting
Through the dusky cedar-tree;
And, from under low-voiced thunder,
From the surf swells fitfully.

Then within my soul I feel thee,
Like a dream of bygone years;
Visions of my childhood murmur
Their old madness in mine ears,
Till the pleasance of thy presence
Crowds my heart with blissful tears.

All the wondrous dreams of boyhood,
All youth's fiery thirst of praise,
All the surer hopes of manhood

Blossoming in sadder days,

Joys that bound me, griefs that crowned me, With a better wreath than bays.

All the longings after freedom,

The vague love of human-kind,

Wandering far and near at random,
Like a dead leaf on the wind,
Rousing only in the lonely

Twilight of an aimless mind.

All of these, O best-beloved!

Happiest present dreams and past,
In thy love find safe fulfilment,
Ripened into truth at last;

Faith and beauty, hope and duty,
To one centre gather fast.

How my spirit, like an ocean,
At the breath of thine awakes,
Leaps its shores in mad exulting,
And in foamy music breaks,
Then, down sinking, lieth shrinking
From the tumult that it makes!

Blazing Hesperus hath sunken

Low adown the pale blue west, And with blazing splendour crowneth The horizon's piny crest; Thoughtful quiet stills the riot

Of wild longing in my breast.

Home I loiter through the moonlight
Underneath the quivering trees,

Which, as if a spirit stirred them,
Sway and bend, till, by degrees,
The faint surge's murmur merges
In the rustle of the breeze.

LOWELL.

P

TO AN EARLY FRIEND.

I CANNOT think that thou shouldst pass away,
Whose life to mine is an eternal law,

A piece of nature that can have no flaw,
A new and certain sunrise every day;
But, if thou art to be another ray
About the Sun of life, and art to live
Free from all of thee that was fugitive,
The debt of Love I will more fully pay,

Not downcast with the thought of thee so high,
But rather raised to be a nobler man,

And more divine in my humanity,

As knowing that the waiting eyes which scan

My life, are lighted by a purer being,

And ask meek, calm-browed deeds, with it agreeing.

THE FATHERLAND.

WHERE is the true man's fatherland?
Is it where he by chance is born?
Doth not the yearning spirit scorn
In such scant borders to be spanned?
O yes! his fatherland must be,
As the blue heaven, wide and free!

Is it alone where freedom is,

Where God is God, and man is man?
Doth he not claim a broader span
For the soul's love of home than this?
O yes! his fatherland must be,

As the blue heaven, wide and free!

LOWELL.

Where'er a human heart doth wear

Joy's myrtle-wreath, or sorrow's gyves,
Where'er a human spirit strives

After a life more true and fair,

There is the true man's birth-place grand,
His is a world-wide fatherland!

Where'er a single slave doth pine,

Where'er one man may help another-
Thank God for such a birthright, brother--
That spot of earth is thine and mine!
There is the true man's birth-place grand,
His is a world-wide fatherland!

LOWELL.

A FUNERAL.

SLOWLY and softly let the music go,

As ye wind upwards to the gray church-tower;
Check the shrill hautboy, let the pipe breathe low-
Tread lightly on the pathside daisy flower,
For she you carry was a gentle bud,
Loved by the unsunned drops of silver dew;
Her voice was like the whisper of the wood
In prime of even, when the stars are few.
Lay her all gently in the flowerful mould,
Weep with her one brief hour; then turn away—
Go to hope's prison-and from out the cold
And solitary gratings many a day

Look forth: 'tis said the world is growing old

And streaks of orient light in Time's horizon play.