The World's Greatest Books [Volumes 1-15, 17-20]

Oh, yet we trust that somehow good Will be the final goal of ill, To pangs of nature, sins of will,

Defects of doubt, and taints of blood ;

That nothing walks with aimless feet;

That not one life shall be destroyed,

Or cast as rubbish to the void, When God hath made the pile complete;

That not a worm is cloven in vain ;

That not a moth with vain desire

Is shrivell'd in a fruitless fire, Or but subserves another's gain. 285

XIII.—When Grief is Past

This is the wide and universal hope that has grown within the soul of the poet, as he has turned from his own sorrows to contemplate the sorrows of all mankind. He no longer doubts that God has created man not as the mere creature of a passing day, but as an inheritor of immortal life, and in the larger love of mankind finds a joy that outweighs the loss of friend.

Again at Christmas did we weave

The holly round the Christmas hearth; The silent snow possess'd the earth

And calmly fell our Christmas-eve.

The Yule-log sparkled keen with frost, No wing of wind the region swept, But over all things brooding slept

The quiet sense of something lost.

As in the winters left behind,

Again our ancient games had place, The mimic picture's breathing grace,

And dance and song and hoodman-blind.

Who showed a token of distress? No single tear, no mark of pain: O sorrow, then can sorrow wane?

O grief, can grief be changed to less?

O last regret, regret can die!

No—mixt with all this mystic frame,

Her deep relations are the same, But with long use her tears are dry.1

286

XIV.—Thoughts at the Coming of Spring

But, being uneasy at the thought that his sorrow for his friend has lessened, in the following song of spring the poet calls upon the warmer season of the year to thaw his frozen sorrow and let it flower again.

Dip down upon the northern shore,

O sweet new year delaying long;

Thou doest expectant Nature wrong, Delaying long; delay no more.

.What stays thee from the clouded noons, Thy sweetness from its proper place? Can trouble live with April days,

Or sadness in the summer moons?

Bring orchis, bring foxglove spire, The little speedwell's darling blue, Deep tulips dash'd with fiery dew,

Laburnums, drooping-wells of fire.

O thou, new year, delaying long, Delayest the sorrow in my blood, That longs to burst a frozen bud

i&nd flood a fresher throat with song.

'XV—What Might Have Been

_ And now his mind is back again with his friend, when he sings thus of what might have been.

When I contemplate all alone

The life that had been thine below, And fix my thoughts on all the glow

To which thy crescent would have grown, 287

I see thee sitting crown'd with good, A central warmth diffusing bliss In glance and smile, and clasp and kiss,

On all the branches of thy blood;

Thy blood, my friend, and partly mine; For now the day was drawing on, When thou shouldst link thy life with one

Of mine own house, and boys of thine

Had babbled " Uncle " on my knee ; But that remorseless iron hour Made cypress of her orange flower,

Despair of Hope, and earth of thee.

I see myself an honour'd guest, Thy partner in the flowery walk Of letters, genial table-talk,

Or deep dispute, and graceful jest;

While now thy prosperous labour fills The lips of men with honest praise, And sun by sun the happy days

Descend below the golden hills

With promise of a morn as fair; And all the train of bounteous hours Conduct by paths of growing powers

To reverence and the silver hair;

Till slowly worn her earthly robe, Her lavish mission richly wrought, Leaving great legacies of thought,

Thv spirit should fail from off the globe. 288

What time mine own might also flee, As link'd with thine in love and fate, And, hovering o'er the dolorous strait

To the other shore, involved in thee;

Arrive at last the blessed goal, And He that died in Holy Land Would reach us out the shining hand,

And take us as a single soul.

What reed was that on which I leant? Ah, backward fancy, wherefore wake The old bitterness again, and break

The low beginnings of content.

XVI.—Familiar Scenes Revisited

Next he revisits Cambridge, where they had been at college together.

I passed beside the reverend walls In which of old I wore the gown; I roved at random thro' the town,

And saw the tumult of the halls;

And heard once more in college fanes The storm their high-built organs mafce, And thunder-music, rolling, shake

The prophets blazon'd on the panes;

And caught once more the distant shout, The measured pulse of racing oars Among the willows; paced the shores

And many a bridge, and all about

The same grey flats again, and felt The same, but not the same; and last Up that long walk of limes I passed

To see the rooms in which he dwelt. 289

Another name was on the door: I linger'd; all within was noise Of songs, and clapping hands, and boys

That crash'd the glass, and beat the floor;

Where once we held debate, a band Of youthful friends, on mind and art, And labour, and the changing mart,

End all the framework of the land;