Part 21

A Sorrow, wet with early tears Yet bitter, had been long with me; I wearied of this weight of years, And would be free.

I tore my Sorrow from my heart, I cast it far away in scorn; Right joyful that we two could part-- Yet most forlorn.

I sought, (to take my Sorrow's place,) Over the world for flower or gem-- But she had had an ancient grace Unknown to them.

I took once more with strange delight My slighted Sorrow; proudly now, I wear it, set with stars of light, Upon my brow.

VERSE: THE LESSON OF THE WAR (1855)

The feast is spread through England For rich and poor to-day; Greetings and laughter may be there, But thoughts are far away; Over the stormy ocean, Over the dreary track, Where some are gone, whom England Will never welcome back.

Breathless she waits, and listens For every eastern breeze That bears upon its bloody wings News from beyond the seas. The leafless branches stirring Make many a watcher start; The distant tramp of steed may send A throb from heart to heart.

The rulers of the nation, The poor ones at their gate, With the same eager wonder The same great news await. The poor man's stay and comfort, The rich man's joy and pride, Upon the bleak Crimean shore Are fighting side by side.

The bullet comes--and either A desolate hearth may see; And God alone to-night knows where The vacant place may be! The dread that stirs the peasant Thrills nobles' hearts with fear-- Yet above selfish sorrow Both hold their country dear.

The rich man who reposes In his ancestral shade, The peasant at his ploughshare, The worker at his trade, Each one his all his perilled, Each has the same great stake, Each soul can but have patience, Each heart can only break!

Hushed is all party clamour; One thought in every heart, One dread in every household, Has bid such strife depart. England has called her children; Long silent--the word came That lit the smouldering ashes Through all the land to flame.

Oh you who toil and suffer, You gladly heard the call; But those you sometimes envy Have they not given their all? Oh you who rule the nation, Take now the toil-worn hand-- Brothers you are in sorrow, In duty to your land. Learn but this noble lesson Ere Peace returns again, And the life-blood of Old England Will not be shed in vain.

VERSE: THE TWO SPIRITS (1855)

Last night, when weary silence fell on all, And starless skies arose so dim and vast, I heard the Spirit of the Present call Upon the sleeping Spirit of the Past. Far off and near, I saw their radiance shine, And listened while they spoke of deeds divine.

The Spirit of the Past.

My deeds are writ in iron; My glory stands alone; A veil of shadowy honour Upon my tombs is thrown; The great names of my heroes Like gems in history lie; To live they deemed ignoble, Had they the chance to die!

The Spirit of the Present.

My children, too, are honoured; Dear shall their memory be To the proud lands that own them; Dearer than thine to thee; For, though they hold that sacred Is God's great gift of life, At the first call of duty They rush into the strife!

The Spirit of the Past.

Then, with all valiant precepts Woman's soft heart was fraught; "Death, not dishonour," echoed The war-cry she had taught. Fearless and glad, those mothers, At bloody deaths elate, Cried out they bore their children Only for such a fate!

The Spirit of the Present.

Though such stern laws of honour Are faded now away, Yet many a mourning mother, With nobler grief than they, Bows down in sad submission: The heroes of the fight Learnt at her knee the lesson, "For God and for the Right!"

The Spirit of the Past.

No voice there spake of sorrow: They saw the noblest fall With no repining murmur; Stern Fate was lord of all. And when the loved ones perished, One cry alone arose, Waking the startled echoes, "Vengeance upon our foes!"

The Spirit of the Present.

Grief dwells in France and England For many a noble son; Yet louder than the sorrow, "Thy will, Oh God, be done!" From desolate homes is rising One prayer, "Let carnage cease! On friends and foes have mercy, Oh Lord, and give us peace!"

The Spirit of the Past.

Then, every hearth was honoured That sent its children forth, To spread their country's glory, And gain her south or north. Then, little recked they numbers, No band would ever fly, But stern and resolute they stood To conquer or to die.